The Perfect Solution
by Nyasia A. Maire
Summary: AU–Madeleine didn't wait for morning to speak with Erik, so he never ran away. He lived his life without a mask & became a successful architect. But wait, what about Christine? What kind of life did she know without her Angel of Music? Kay–Movie–EC–MATURE
1. All the Masks Burning!

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

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**DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

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**_Masquerade! _**

**_Masquerade!  
Paper faces on parade ...  
Masquerade!  
Hide your face,  
so the world will  
never find you! _**

**_Masquerade!  
Every face a different shade ...  
Masquerade!  
Look around -  
there's another  
mask behind you! _**

_Andrew Lloyd Webber_

**

* * *

Chapter One – All the Masks Burning!**

Masks haunted his dreams.

Sitting up drenched in sweat after another night spent wrapped within the dark embrace of the same nightmare, he leaned his head into his hands and wanted to let go. He wanted to give in to the insanity that seemed to hover just around the next corner, whispering seductively to him to come, come lose himself in the loving embrace of madness. He could not understand why he dreamt of the masks. He had not worn one since he was nine years old.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

He remembered that night clearly.

His mother had come into his room and sat down on his bed. She had touched him, something she usually avoided. She placed her hand on his shoulder and gently shook him.

"Erik. Wake up. Please? We need to talk …."

Her voice changed that night. There was a strength in it that had not been there, a resolve previously unknown to either one of them before that night. She looked straight into his eyes and the coldness that had always been there was no more. The icy blue eyes of his mother were gone. From that night on, her eyes became the warm blue of a clear, sunny spring sky. He knew that she no longer hated him. He could hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes, but the fire she lit that night truly convinced him of her transformation.

She sat on the side of his bed and told him how things needed to change. He had been half asleep and most of her words had not penetrated his young mind. He was so astounded that she was in his room, sitting next to him on his bed and talking to him. She seemed … happy. During their talk, she had a sudden epiphany and became giddy as a schoolgirl. She had taken him by the hand and led him to the fireplace in the living room. After building a cozy fire, she turned to him. She looked into his eyes and he saw something there that he had never seen before, but he was not altogether certain what the look meant. He did know one thing, the look made him feel good inside. The look made him feel how he thought he would feel if she hugged him.

"Erik, would you please run upstairs and gather all of your masks then bring them to me? I will check the laundry for any that might be there. Hurry now and I'll meet you here in a few minutes."

If he had not seen the look in her eyes, he would have been afraid. However, he had seen the look and instead of fear, he felt … joy?

The mother and son met before the fire, holding an odd assortment of cloth masks. His brilliant green eyes met hers. She smiled at him, turned towards the fire and threw the masks she held into the flames.

He hugged the masks in his arms tightly to his thin chest and stepped back from her, his eyes wide with shock. She turned back to him and held out her hands.

"There! There! It is all right, my son. Please, give me the masks. As of tonight, you and I both no longer need to wear one."

She smiled and gave him a nod of encouragement.

"Truly, Erik, from now on everything is going to be as it should. Please, Erik. I need you to give your masks to me. Please? You do not need the masks. I was the one that needed them, but I was wrong. I am so very sorry."

Trembling, he took a step forward and held them out to her.

Gratefully, she bent down and accepted them from him.

She paused, a sudden idea striking her.

"Would you like to throw them into the fire?"

He took a half-step back and stopped. He cocked his head to one side as he considered the shocking and yet, somehow exciting suggestion. After giving his mother's words careful consideration, he gave a nod that not only shook his head, but his entire frail body. His mother chuckled and returned the small bundle to him.

"You like that, eh?"

Again, he vigorously nodded and this time, a wide grin spread across his lips.

"Well, then … after I give the obligatory motherly warning of not getting too near the fire, cast away!"

He turned and after giving the hated masks one more glance, he tossed them into the fire.

His mother moved to his side and then knelt down next to her son. They watched the bits of cloth burn and after a moment, she wrapped her arm around his thin shoulder. His rigid body softened and then, tentatively, he leaned his head against her shoulder. As the last bits blackened and curled into ash, his mother quietly spoke.

"Would it be all right with you if I gave you a belated birthday present?"

"Of course, Mother …."

Before he could ask her what it was, she pulled him hard against her and gave him his first hug. Too stunned to react, Erik simply stood there. After a time, she pulled back from him slightly, he saw that although tears streamed down her cheeks, her face shone with a radiant smile. She leaned down and lovingly bestowed upon her son his very first kiss. Erik felt faint as her lips pressed against the marred skin of his cheek.

_"And, to think I intended to run away in the morning!"_

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

That had been a new beginning for the two of them. She was no longer afraid of what the neighbors would think or say and she no longer confined him to the house. While, never socially accepted by the townspeople, it seemed that removing the mask from his face had removed the mystery from him. Gradually, the townspeople accepted his presence by ignoring him.

He had three loves in his life – his mother, his music and his architecture.

After studying at home with private tutors, his mother announced on his 16th birthday that she had sent applications to the Paris Conservatoire and to the Politecnico di Milano. She informed him that as both institutions accepted his application, her birthday present to him was the choice of which institution he attended. He could either study music in Paris or architecture and engineering in Milan, Italy. He agonized over his decision for weeks. While he wanted to travel and see the world, he did not wish to leave his mother alone. He loved music and Paris was closer to his mother, but he was still a young man of 16 years and he longed to see the wonders of Roman architecture first hand. After all, could he earn a living with a degree in music? He knew a degree in architecture and engineering would guarantee he would always be able to find work. Perhaps, he would even be able to establish his own firm. Still, he hesitated and the days flew past.

At last, his mother sensed the source of his indecision. She assured him that she would be just fine and that she trusted him to make the right decision for the both of them.

He chose Italy.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Now, fourteen years later, he was the proud proprietor of Destler Design and had a staff of ten working for him. His house designs were highly prized by the members of Parisian nobility and his company backlogged with an over abundance of projects for the next three years.

Erik Destler had a prestigious reputation and wealth. He had all a man could ever want. He had everything, but for one little thing. Well, he had everything, but for two small things, which for a man such as him, were in all actuality, huge things.

Love and music.

And every night he awoke from the dream, which at the same time offered and denied him both.

And, it was driving him mad.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ****My apologies to the Leroux purists. I am using the 2004 movie as the basis for Erik Destler's appearance. This story is a "What if?" based on "Madeleine's Chapter" from the novel, "Phantom" by Susan Kay.

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**


	2. What are Friends For?

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

**_You've Got a Friend _**

**_When you're down and troubled  
and you need a helping hand  
and nothing, ooh, nothing is going right.  
Close your eyes and think of me  
and soon I will be there  
to brighten up even your darkest nights. _**

**_You just call out my name,  
and you know wherever I am  
I'll come running, oh yeah baby  
to see you again.  
Winter, spring, summer or fall,  
all you have to do is call  
and I'll be there, yeah, yeah, yeah  
You've got a friend. _**

**_If the sky above you  
should turn dark and full of clouds  
and that old north wind should begin to blow  
Keep your head together and call my name out loud  
and soon I will be knocking upon your door.  
You just call out my name,  
and you know wherever I am  
I'll come running to see you again.  
Winter, spring, summer or fall,  
all you got to do is call  
and I'll be there, yeah, yeah, yeah _**

**_Hey, ain't it good to know that you've got a friend?  
People can be so cold.  
They'll hurt you and desert you.  
Well they'll take your soul if you let them.  
Oh yeah, but don't you let them. _**

**_You just call out my name,  
and you know wherever I am  
I'll come running to see you again.  
Oh babe, don't you know that,  
Winter, spring, summer or fall,  
Hey now, all you've got to do is call.  
Lord, I'll be there, yes I will.  
You've got a friend.  
You've got a friend.  
Ain't it good to know you've got a friend?  
Ain't it good to know you've got a friend?  
You've got a friend. _**

**_James Taylor_**

**

* * *

Chapter Two – What are Friends For?**

He looked into the mirror, fussing with his cravat for what seemed to be the hundredth time that night.

"Still not right, dammit!"

Muttering, he sighed irritated with himself.

"_What does it matter anyway? No one is going to see me, but for Raoul and Phillipe. It is not as if I had someone to impress or ever could have someone to impress."_

Raising his eyes to inspect his image in the mirror, he attempted an honest appraisal of the man looking back at him. His thick golden brown hair was expertly styled to hide the places where his deformity would not allow hair to grow. His hair appeared normal, as did the left side of his face, most of his forehead, all of his chin, half of his nose and all of his lips. He turned his head to the right, hiding the right side of his face.

"_Why can I not look this way on both sides?"_

Another sigh escaped his lips.

The dream had been exceptionally vivid and relentless the night before. Today, he felt tired.

Turning his head to the left, he renewed his assessment of his features. The most noticeably marred part of his face was the area around his eye. The lower lid seemed atrophied and the eye sunken. He had no discernable eyebrow and the flesh of his lower forehead and cheek seemed twisted or, perhaps, slightly melted, giving his skin, the appearance or texture of clotted curds. When he had first ceased to wear the masks, his face had been mottled and pale. The years of exposure to the air and the sun had much improved his skin's appearance. The overall tone of the skin was good and appeared healthy, unlike the jaundiced appearance of his childhood. Perhaps, his face was not the horror he thought it. With one final tug to his cravat, he left his room to go downstairs to wait for his friends.

"_Why did I ever let them talk me into this?"_

He knew it was the irrepressible Raoul's fault that he was subjecting himself to this night on the town. Only Raoul could pester him into agreeing to attend tonight's gala at the Opera Populaire. It was not that he did not like attending the opera. What he did not like was people **_seeing_** him at the Opera. The inevitable staring that preceded him and whispering that followed in his wake. He took some comfort from the fact that no one screamed or fainted in his presence, as he once feared they would. Still, he was lonely.

Walking down the wide, curving staircase, which led to a large, marble foyer, he pulled at the cuffs of his shirt.

He swore.

"Merde!"

He had forgotten to put on his cuff links. Just as he turned to walk back to his room, the doorbell rang and he could hear a cane rapping on his door.

"_Damn that Raoul! If he chips the paint on the door again, I am going to paint it using that fop's hair!"_

"Elaine!" He called aloud. "Please answer the door and tell the brothers I will be right down, please?"

As always, his housekeeper appeared as if from out of nowhere and made her way to the door.

He quickly grabbed the emerald cufflinks from his bureau top then slipped them into the pocket of his waistcoat and hastily, returned to the entry of his home. The sight that greeted him from the top of the stairs caused him to grin and he had to suppress a guffaw. Raoul, as usual, was teasing the prim and proper Elaine with his roguish sense of flirting. His housekeeper ignored the boy and somehow sensing her employer's approach, turned towards him and held out her hand to him as he went to walk past her.

"Monsieur? Your cufflinks, please?"

All three men smiled and rolled their eyes simultaneously. Erik retrieved the links and handed them over to his imperious housekeeper. Silently, she expertly threaded the links through the cuffs and secured them. She nodded her satisfaction and gazed into the master of the house's eyes softly smiling at him.

"Shall I be expecting you late, Monsieur?"

She solicitously inquired. Erik returned her regard and nodded to the older woman who appeared more like a noble than the two gentlemen who flanked her.

"Yes, of course. We are going with Raoul, after all."

With a nod of her head, the woman withdrew from the entry and the men exited the house. Raoul began to shout out his protest at Erik's remark, but with a swift severe glance from his older brother, the young man stifled his overly enthusiastic response. He grumbled.

"Aw, Phillipe! You are no fun any more!"

"And you, Raoul, never learn. Come, you two or we shall be late! I need to pay La Sorelli a brief visit before the opera begins or there will be hell to pay!"

The men climbed into the awaiting carriage and with a thump of Phillipe's cane on the roof of the carriage, the conveyance lurched forward.

The older man still cut a dashing figure in his evening attire even though the barrel chest of his youth was now beginning to slide to his waist and his blonde hair now gleamed with streaks of silver. His face was ruggedly handsome lined only by the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. The feature women found most captivating was his smile, as it transformed him. Phillipe did not simply smile with his mouth; he smiled with his entire face.

Erik found Phillipe's comment amusing and could not resist teasing the man.

"Feeling a wee bit hen pecked, hmmm, are we Phillipe?"

The older man surprised the younger man when he responded mildly.

"And why is that considered such a poor situation in which to find myself? I believe that any man lucky enough to find himself a woman needs to realize just how fortunate he really is. Do you not agree little brother?"

As the question hung unanswered in the air of the carriage, the two older men turned to look at the younger man who stared dreamily out the window. Their eyes met and they both silently shook their heads. Erik rolled his eyes and Phillipe rubbed his hands together at the prospect of teasing his little brother.

"So, who is she little brother? She has you _con comme la lune_ (looking stupid as the moon.)"

Raoul sighed softly, blinked and turned towards his brother.

"Did you say something?"

Both of the other men began to laugh at the younger man's confusion. Phillipe decided to give it another try.

"Raoul, it is time to spill the beans, man! You are mooning over a girl. Who is she?"

"Her name is Meg. Megan Giry. She is a dancer in the Corps de Ballet. She is such a handsome girl …."

He sighed and leaned his elbow on the carriage door. Then he placed his chin within the cup of his palm, he continued.

"You remember my friend, Christine Daae, do you not, Phillipe?"

"Of course, how could I ever forget her?"

Erik interjected, beating his friend to the punch.

"Christine Daae? The little girl whose red scarf you saved from the sea? That Christine Daae? Raoul, you have only told me that story every single summer day since I met you. What about her? What does she have to do with Mademoiselle Giry?

"Well, Christine's father died about twelve years ago and Meg's mother became Christine's guardian. So …."

"So, when you went to the opera house for mother and father to announce our patronage, you saw your little Lotte, renewed your acquaintance with her and then met Meg through Christine. Am I correct?"

"Precisely, Phillipe."

"Now, little brother, the only mystery remaining is whether or not you are sponsoring both young doves …."

The older man's eyebrows raised and he cocked his head at Raoul.

"Phillipe! That is positively repulsive! I would never besmirch a young lady's reputation by spreading such vile gossip about them. You are horrid! How could you speak of my Meg and little Lotte that way?"

The young man's face grew red and his breathing ragged, the more outraged he became.

Phillipe and Erik burst into hearty guffaws over the young man's discomfort, slapping their knees and holding their sides as their laughter shook their bodies. The younger man sputtered indignantly and turned his back on the two older men muttering under his breath.

In a sincere attempt to placate his young friend, Erik regained control of his mirth and placed a consoling hand on Raoul's shoulder, shaking his head at Phillipe.

"Come, Raoul, be honest. Your tale is easily misconstrued and after all, is that not what most patrons would do?"

Without turning to look at either man, Raoul answered furiously. His jaw clenched tight with anger.

"The actions of **_most_** patrons do not concern me. Nor, do I treat ladies in the manner Phillipe does. I take umbrage at your words. You mock the woman I intend to make my wife as well as another woman who I hold as dear to me as I do my sisters."

A mantle of tense silence immediately cloaked the occupants of the carriage. Erik's expression one of stunned surprise and Phillipe's expression one of horrified shock, which he quickly masked with a sarcastic remark.

"Oh, Erik, his righteous anger simply means he is unable to **_sponsor_** either of these girls as Madame Giry is most likely chaperoning them intensely. From the little La Sorelli has told me, the woman is quite the harridan."

Shaking his head and still directing his darkened gaze out the window, Raoul tersely remarked.

"Sometimes I wonder how we could be related, Phillipe. Truly, I do."

Erik, in a final attempt to restore the festive mood, remarked.

"Raoul, please calm yourself. You know how your brother dearly adores tormenting you. Please do not give it another thought. We are here to enjoy the opera and I do not intend to allow either one of you bores to ruin my evening. So, Raoul, after the opera perhaps you would be so kind as to present me to your ladies. I, for one, am curious to see the woman that has won your heart. Truly. I do not jest. Would you allow me to make their acquaintance?"

Raoul turned, his expression softened. He placed his hand atop Erik's hand and nodded.

"I will make the introductions after the performance, if you truly wish it."

"I do, Raoul. I can honestly say that I am very curious about both young ladies. Both of them must be very special for you to hold them so dear to your heart."

"They are, Erik. They are."

"Raoul, I do not believe that mother and father will feel as you do about this girl, but I will not oppose you or bring her to their attention, but have a care! There are many eyes at the opera and word will make its way back to them. I am certain they will be highly displeased, but forewarned is forearmed they say."

He shook his head sadly.

"You know so little of the true ways of the world. There is a vast difference between what is right and what simply is. I pray you do not have to learn that the hard way, little brother. I truly do. For both your sake and for the sake of the girl's reputation, you are, after all, of noble blood."

"Noble blood be damned!"

"Have a care and mark my words, little brother. You are not the only one concerned in this matter. Always have a care for the girl for when all is said and done, she is the one who will be made to suffer, not you."

Again the men fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. The carriage rocked and swayed into a sharp turn bringing the Opera Populaire into view, which caused Phillipe to murmur.

"Thank God! I need a drink!"

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**Author's Note: This story is a "What if?" and based on "Madeleine's Chapter" from the novel, "Phantom" by Susan Kay. While the "what if" I borrowed from Susan Kay, Erik's appearance is movie-based as I am positive the man described by both Gaston Leroux and Susan Kay (and to some extent by Andrew Lloyd Weber's POTO musical) would not be allowed to walk in public without a mask without causing an angry mob to gather intent on lynching the poor man.  
****--ny

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**


	3. All the King's Horses

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

**_Humpty Dumpty _**

**_Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. __  
_****_Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. __  
_****_All the king's horses and all the king's men __  
_****_couldn't put Humpty together again._**

**_Nursery Rhyme, Origin Unknown _**

* * *

Chapter Three – All the King's Horses

The three men alighted from the carriage and after bidding Erik and Raoul a hasty au revoir, Phillipe hurried to the performer's entrance and disappeared inside, leaving the two younger men alone.

Taking a deep breath and settling his features into the well-practiced, nonchalant expression he always wore in public, Erik turned to Raoul.

"Shall we, Monsieur?"

"Of course. It would hardly do to be late."

Raoul hesitated, his eyes becoming unusually serious for a moment.

"Erik, do you believe Phillipe to be correct?"

Startled by the question, Erik feigned ignorance.

"What is it that you wish to know, mon ami?"

Erik glanced at Raoul out of the corner of his eyes, not wishing to cause the younger one any more distress than he had already experienced that evening. The young man's face looked more than serious, it seemed sad and this surprised Erik.

"_What would make Raoul look that sad? He's never sad. He always seems so jolly. His feelings for the girl must truly run deep."_

"What do I wish to know? Hmmm …. Am I doing the proper thing in attempting to allow myself a relationship with this girl? I honestly do not know. Although, whether I am or not is a moot point as I am afraid it is far too late for both Meg and me …."

His voice trailed off and he passed his hand over his eyes.

Erik, however, froze.

"Raoul! What do you mean it is too late? You certainly did not take liberties with the young lady, did you? I mean … you would never …."

His voice trailed away as Raoul turned his outraged face to Erik.

"I most certainly did not! I would never do such a thing. Never!" He hissed.

As he saw his friend's face pale, Raoul placed his hand on Erik's arm and said in a softer tone.

"No, Erik. I did not. It is too late for Mademoiselle Giry and me because we have already fallen in love with one another."

Erik could not think of a thing to say, so he simply uttered.

"Oh …."

"Come, Erik. Let us make haste! And, Erik, thank you for caring enough about Meg's reputation to become angry at the thought of me, well, just, thank you."

The two men nodded at one another and made their way into the opera house each lost in their own thoughts.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"That is Meg. The third girl from the right in the front row." Raoul whispered.

"She is very handsome. I can understand your attraction to the girl. She is, indeed, lovely. Now, which one is Christine? Your little Lotte?"

The overly casual tone of Erik's inquiry caused Raoul's attention to drift from the sight of his darling dancer to the man beside him. Erik seemed relaxed and he watched the ballet with an expression no different from any of the other times they had been there. Yet, there was something different about his friend, which warned Raoul that he felt otherwise. Raoul could not remember a time when Erik had ever shown any sign of interest in a woman.

"_This is the second time he has expressed a curiosity in her."_

In the carriage when Erik made his request for an introduction to the two girls, Raoul believed he spoke out of politeness. With this second remark, Raoul began to wonder. He began to speak again, when Phillipe softly cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. He slightly inclined his head in the direction of the box next to them where the occupants were glaring at them.

Properly chastened, Raoul and Erik ceased their conversation and resumed their appreciation of the ballet.

"_I must tread carefully here."_ Raoul thought._ "Perhaps during the intermission, I should speak to him of the little Lotte that was and the Christine that now is. So sad. When we were children, I never thought that our lives would lead us where we are now. I expected little Lotte to become an opera prima donna. Strange how life seldom turns in the ways we imagine. Yes, I must tell him during intermission, so I will know whether or not I should introduce them afterwards. Oh, Christine."_

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

During intermission, the three men mingled with the rest of the opera patrons as they placed their drink orders. After the waiter left to retrieve their order, Raoul turned to Erik.

"You know, old man, before I introduce you to Christine, I should tell you what happened to little Lotte after the summer I saved her scarf."

"This is so unexpected, Raoul. I have always been curious to know what happened to your childhood sweetheart. So, spill the beans!"

"Phillipe, please! What I have to say is not for you to spread as gossip to La Sorelli. What happened to Christine is a private matter. Please give me your word of honor that you will speak of this to no one."

Erik and Phillipe exchanged a curious glance. They could tell by the look on Raoul's face that he was unusually serious, so they both gave their word to the young man. He sighed and drew a deep breath.

"When that summer ended, mother and father sent me to boarding school where I made many new friends. I never went back to Perros-Guirec after that summer holiday, so I never knew what became of Christine until the day I came here to officially announce our patronage of the opera house. That was the day I was reunited with Christine and met my Meg."

He smiled fondly as he spoke the name of the young dancer then he continued.

"I used to wonder what had become of my little Lotte, but as the years went by she became just a fond memory of my childhood. After all, the last time I saw her she was but eight years of age and I, a mature man of twelve." He chuckled softly. "Her father, Gustave, was a wonderful man and a talented violinist, but I have told you this part many times before."

He paused as the waiter returned with their drinks. After the man served them and withdrew. Raoul stood sipping his drink. His eyes betrayed him showing that his mind was far away. Impatiently, Erik prompted him to continue his tale.

"Raoul, what is it that I should know about Mademoiselle Daae? Come! Out with it, man!"

His low voice almost growled. Startled back into the present, Raoul smiled apologetically and continued.

"The winter following my last visit to Perros-Guirec, Christine's father died. Her mother died giving birth to her. When her father died that left her orphaned without even a distant cousin to which she could cling. Fortunately, Gustave arranged for an old acquaintance to become Christine's guardian. The old friend is Meg's mother, Madame Giry. So, at nine years of age, Madame Giry brought Christine to the Opera Populaire. For a child with the voice of an angel, I would have thought that living in an opera house the perfect place for her, but it was not. The competition amongst the young girls was something that Christine could not tolerate. Such a gentle, sweet and shy soul, the ballet rats often tormented her unrelentingly, until Meg would make them stop. Christine fell into a state of despair and deep melancholy and there she remains. She does not perform in the ballet or the chorus, but runs errands for Madame Giry, who is the Ballet Mistress and Monsieur Reyer, who is the Musical Director. She sometimes works in the kitchen as a pot scrubber or in the stables mucking out the stalls. The true tragedy of little Lotte is that she no longer sings. She rarely speaks. And, I have yet to see her smile. Some of the younger ballet rats have dubbed her, 'Boule, Boule' after the children's riddle. Others call her, 'The Opera Ghost,' which is cruel, but …." He shrugged.

"The Opera Ghost? Your little Lotte is the Opera Ghost. I had no idea. I have heard La Sorelli speak of the Opera Ghost. I thought she spoke all in jest. I never realized she spoke of an actual person. I am sorry, Raoul. Truly, I am. I know she was your first love."

The brothers exchanged sympathetic looks and Erik suddenly spoke.

"Surely there are doctors, which could remedy her malaise. Why has no one seen to it?"

Erik's inquiry seemed almost angry to Raoul, but he could only shake his head.

"There is no money for such doctors. Madame Giry had the opera house doctor examine Christine once. He told Madame that she refused to speak with him, so he could not help her. Madame said that the only time Christine spoke to anyone about her melancholy was once when she spoke to Meg. She told Meg her father had promised to send her an angel, the Angel of Music, but no angel has come to her and so she mourns. She mourns for her lost parents and for her absent angel."

The agitated young man threw back the remaining liquor in his glass and grimaced.

"Meg keeps Christine nearby her when they are not working, as she fears for her safety. There are several unsavory characters, which work backstage and Meg fears Christine would be easy pickings for their lecherous and lascivious ways. That is how I know she will be there tonight when I go backstage to meet with Meg. Please be kind to her, Erik. I know sometimes you have a rapier tongue with those you believe are dimwitted, but Christine is … well, different, but not dimwitted."

Tinkling chimes sounded throughout the gallery, signaling the end of the intermission. People began to herd themselves back into the auditorium.

"Raoul, I swear to you, I shall treat her with kindness. Thank you for telling me her story. It is a pity she no longer sings. I would dearly love to hear her voice. If she sings anywhere near as beautifully as you claim, the world suffers a loss each day she remains in her melancholia."

"Come, you two. The ballet waits for no man. La Sorelli is in the opening scene of the second half and if she does not see me in the audience …."

The two younger men finish the older man's sentence for him.

"There will be hell to pay!"

Their mirth brings haughty glances from the older women and men walking near them, but the three friends ignore the looks, enjoying the release only laughter can bring.

* * *

**Author's Note: Please read and review! --ny

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	4. Her Life as a Ghost

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

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**DISCLAIMER: **I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

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**_The Sick Rose _**

**_O Rose, thou art sick!  
The invisible worm  
that flies in the night,  
in the howling storm. _**

**_Has found out thy bed  
of crimson joy  
and his dark secret love  
does thy life destroy. _**

**_William Blake_**

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Chapter Four – Her Life as a Ghost

"_Meg is performing right now, so I can disappear for a short time without anyone noticing or caring where I go. I can have my moment of solitude. Blessed Jesus, thank you!"_

The girl quickly made her way through the backstage passages and then turned down one of the darker corridors. The dusty floor and the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling told the tale better than words that the room at the end of this hall was one not regularly frequented by the inhabitants of the opera house. However, this room was the one place Christine felt somewhat at peace. For, if her father chose not to send the Angel of Music to her, here at least there were angels painted on the walls and a reliquary that provided her a place to light a candle and offer to God her prayers for her poor, dearly departed Papa.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

It was here in the unused chapel, Christine first discovered the secret passageways that ran throughout the opera house.

The day began much as any other, she awoke, dressed and went to the kitchen where she ate her breakfast. She reported to Madame and she had no errands, so she reported to Monsieur Reyer, but he had nothing for her to do either. It was still too early to report to the kitchen and not late enough to report to the stables, so she found herself drifting in the direction of the chapel, as she was oft times want to do. She lit a candle, knelt on the rough stone floor and bowed her head in silent prayer. All too soon, the tears began to trickle down her cheeks dripping from her chin and onto the floor. From time to time, she kept an eye on the candle she lit so she would know how long she had been there. Her eyes roamed about the room at last settling on the solemn figure of the angel. She had begun her prayers in earnest then and was beginning to become lost in her memories of her Papa when the sound of hushed voices intruded upon her consciousness. She heard a male and a female voice speaking to one another and they seemed to be drawing near to her sanctuary. A feeling of panic spread through the girl's body and she wildly looked about the room. Other than the arched entryway of the chapel, the reliquary, the candles, the painted angels, the stained glass angel and a black, metal grate were the only visible choices of possible escape. As the voices seemed almost upon her, she had no time to ponder her options. She hurried to the grate and pulled. She could not make it budge, so she turned to the stained glass window. For reasons still unknown to her to this day, Christine ran her fingertips along the edge of the frame and felt a small switch. She flipped the switch and the window began to swing in, away from her. She caught it, opened it enough for her to step through and then pushed it closed behind her.

And that, as they say, was that.

Over the years, she became extremely adept at discovering the hidden mechanisms, which controlled the various portals leading into and out of her secret world. The passages helped her complete her errands quicker and at the same time hid her from the ballet rats and their unceasing teasing. She knew that the passages led downwards as well, but never did she have time to explore nor did she particularly care to go downwards for she knew that the cellars were vast. She saw no benefit in extending her knowledge there, until she became bored with the passages above.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

On this night, as Christine lit her customary candle and knelt to the rough floor to pray, a flash of light caught her attention. Her eyes drawn to the stained glass angel and the sight, which met her gaze, caused her to gasp. Whether it was a trick of the light or an actual vision, her familiar angel's face appeared strange and alien to her eyes. The left side of the angel's face was just as it had always been, stern and beautiful. However, the right side of the face now appeared deformed. Its eye socket sunken, its nose slightly flattened, the angel had no eyebrow and the skin of its cheek and forehead was lumpy. She blinked in surprise and then rubbed her eyes, but when she returned her eyes to the angel, she saw her old, familiar friend once more. However, the angelic visage brought her no comfort and she stood, quickly backing her way out of the room. As soon as she was certain her feet had left the room, she began to run away from the chapel. Her feet had not carried her more than a few yards when her mind ordered them to halt.

"_What in the world is wrong with me? For years, I have prayed that father's angel would appear to me. Now, tonight, I receive a sign and I run away? No, I think not! Papa, please do not take back the angel! Papa! Angel! I am coming!"_

She turned and ran back to the chapel. Hesitating only the slightest of moments to gather her courage, she brought her eyes to gaze upon the angel. Her breath caught in her throat, for now the sight, which met her brought tears of joy to her eyes.

"Papa!" She breathed.

The visage of the stained glass angel before her was once again transformed into that of a being both beautiful and terrible. Half of darkness, half of light, but all beautifully and angelically divine. An angel that was hers and hers alone. Before her was the face of her Angel of Music. Or, was it? Something about the face seemed too human to be that of an angel, too sensual. She studied the fullness of the lips, the slight cleft of the chin, the burning orbs of deep, emerald green.

"_No. Here is the face of a man. A man that the Angel of Music chose to guide me back onto the path of sweet music."_

She knew not why or where the thought originated, but it brought her greater comfort than the idea of an angel visiting her. An angel that would leave her once its duty to her was done.

"_A man who allows me to once again hear the music of life, the music of my soul. Oh! Thank you, Papa. Thank you, Angel."_

She gazed long and hard at the image of the man, his face committed permanently into her memory.

"_It would not do to see him and not recognize him. Not after waiting all this time. No, it would not do at all."_

She thought wryly.

Smiling for the first time in years, she turned and left the chapel to return to the world of the living in the opera house. The young woman began to hum softly then the humming became words. Her voice, rough at first, quickly grew beautiful and strong as she lifted her song of thanks to the heavens.

"**_Angel of Music, you have promised,  
a man to come walk beside me.  
Angel of Music, long I've wandered,  
lost and alone in darkness.  
Now you have shown me the path,  
which I am bound to take.  
Please Angel, do not deceive me,  
for my heart will break._**

**_Angel of Music, guide and guardian,  
grant to me your glory.  
Angel, I promise to keep watch,  
I will not shun your promise.  
Please Angel, send him to me soon,  
too long I've wandered alone.  
Please Angel, do not forget me,  
or my soul will die."_**

As she drew nearer to the inhabited places of the opera house, her singing ceased and the humming resumed. As soon as she saw one of the stagehands, even her humming ceased. Yet, her brown eyes were no longer dull and lifeless, but brilliant and radiated life. The young woman walked tall and proud, no longer the creeping, timid Opera Ghost. She returned to the bench where Meg and she always met and sat. She leaned her back against the wall and closed her eyes. A small smile curled her lips. After a moment, she began to hum again. Her feet, which did not quite touch the floor, began to swing in time to her song. Oblivious of the swarming mass of humanity, which rushed about her, she examined the face of the man behind her closed lids and her smile grew. One of the stagehands paused as he saw the young woman on the bench.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle? Are you supposed to be here?"

He gently began. The sound of her laughter cut off his words and she replied.

"Joseph, gentle Joseph! Do you not recognize me? It is I, Christine Daae! You and I have known each other for years. Your kind wife has even given me her old dresses. Surely, Joseph, you must recognize me!"

He stepped back from the radiant form who sat laughing before him. He stammered an apology and almost ran from her presence.

"_Indeed, she is Christine Daae, but she is possessed. Whether it be by heaven or hell, I know not, but surely, this girl is possessed. God save her! God save us all!"_

The Master of the Flies climbed back up to his rigs and gazed down upon the still laughing girl in wonder and more than just a little fear.

"_Please, Lord, do not let what little of her mind is left be gone. The Managers will confine her. Please, Lord?"_

With a shake of his head, he returned to his post and tried to put the sight and sound of the strange girl from his mind. He told no one of his strange encounter with Christine Daae. Unfortunately, others who saw her that night were not as kind. All too soon, word began to spread of Christine's strange, happy demeanor. As word made its way to the ballet dormitories, the young ballerinas began to plot new torments for the strange girl.

At last, Christine realized the ballet was over and she opened her eyes to look for Meg. She brushed a lock of her long, brown curls from her face and leaned forward as she searched for the slender, blonde ballerina. Her gaze alighted upon the form of her friend and she called to her.

"Meg! Over here! I am over here!"

The petite girl had a towel thrown over her shoulder and carried a bouquet of lilies and daffodils in the crook of one arm. She walked as if she were still performing a scene from the ballet as she still wore her pointe shoes. She walked arm-in-arm with Raoul, her eyes only left his face long enough to acknowledge Christine's greeting. The two made their way to the bench and Christine looked at the couple before her. For the first time, she saw the love they had for one another and she felt a deep happiness for them. She bounced to her feet as they approached.

"Meg! Raoul! Hello! How was the ballet? Is Meg not the best dancer of them all?"

She threw her arms around Meg and hugged her tightly. Then releasing the stunned girl, she turned to Raoul and gave him a quick hug as well. The couple stood staring at the normally reticent girl with mouths agaped. Then a voice from behind the couple spoke and Christine froze. The rich, baritone voice caressed her ears and sent delightful shivers up and down her spine.

"So, Raoul. Is this your little Lotte?"

The voice paused, waited for a response and confused at his companions sudden silence, inquired.

"Raoul? Are you well? Meg? Is something wrong?"

The man's face appeared over Raoul's shoulder and Christine looked into the face of the man promised by her angel.

The world fell away as the man and the woman stared intently at one another, a strange sense of recognition flashed between them and then they smiled at one another.

As the brilliance of the man's green eyes threatened to drown her in their familiar beauty, Christine succumbed to their pull and found herself spinning away into a world of emerald darkness.

And then, for a time, she knew no more.

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**Author's Note: The lyrics to "Angel of Music" (except for the line "_Angel of Music, guide and guardian grant to me your glory")_ are my own creation or re-working of the original. The music, of course, is not.**

**Please read and review … you must, please! I've become addicted to your reviews! --ny**

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	5. The Children of the Owl and the Pussycat

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

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DEDICATION: I dedicate this Chapter to all of us who are "different." After all, weird is wonderful!**

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**DISCLAIMER: **I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

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_**The Children of the Owl and the Pussycat**_

**_Our mother was the Pussycat, our father was the Owl;  
and so we're partly little beasts and partly little fowl.  
The brothers of our family have feathers and they hoot.  
While all the sisters dress in fur and have long tails to boot.  
We all believe that little mice,  
for food are singularly nice.  
Our mother died long years ago. She was a lovely cat.  
Her tail was five feet long and, grey with stripes, but what of that?  
In Sila forest on the East of fair Calabria's shore,  
she tumbled from a lofty tree – none ever saw her more.  
Our owly father long was ill from sorrow and surprise,  
but with the feathers of his tail, he wiped his weeping eyes.  
And in the hollow of a tree in Sila's inmost maze,  
we made a happy home and there we pass our obvious days._**

**_From Reggian Cosenza many owls about us flit  
and bring us worldly news for which we do not care a bit.  
We watch the sun each morning rise, beyond Tarento's strait;  
we go out _**------------------**_ before it gets too late;  
and when the evening shades begin to lengthen from the trees,  
_**------------------**_ as sure as bees is bees.  
We wander up and down the shore _**------------------**_.  
Or, tumble over head and heels, but never, never more,  
can see the far Gromboolian plains _**---------------------**_.  
Or, weep as we could once have wept o'er many a vanished scene:  
this is the way our father moans -- he is so very green._**

**_Our father still preserves his voice, and when he sees a star,  
he often sings _**------------**_ to that original guitar.  
_**--------------------------------------------------------**_.  
_**--------------------------------------------------------**_.  
The pot in which our parents took the honey in their boat,  
but all the money has been spent, beside the £5 note.  
The owls who come and bring us news are often _**------**_  
because we take no interest in politix of the day._**

_**Edward Lear, 1812-1888 – Unfinished Sequel to "Owl and the Pussycat"  
Published Posthumously, 1938**_

**_From "The Faber Book of Nonsense Verse" – Edited by Geoffrey Grigson  
First published in 1938 in Davidson's "Edward Lear"_**

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**Chapter Five – The Children of the Owl and the Pussycat**

Warm, brown eyes enveloped him, held him unmoving within their unblinking gaze and he could see nothing else. He desired to see nothing more. If his life could remain forever in one perfect instant, then this was the one he chose. Then the flash of a brilliant smile caught his eye and the moment was no more.

She was falling and the eyes of rich, earthen hue suddenly shuttered by their lids. Without thought, he swiftly moved to catch the falling maiden. He carefully hefted her to cradle her in his arm's embrace. And, he found he could not force his eyes to look away from her. His eyes took in every nuance of her face, the skin was the color of the palest cream, her long hair was a mass of russet ringlets, her face was heart-shaped with dark upswept brows and her lips formed a perfect crimson rosebud. Every part of his body, mind and soul responded to the dark angel in his arms. It was then that the thought struck him.

"_I am lost. I am truly lost and hers forever more. This fey creature cannot be human for she weighs the same as a feather."_

His thoughts suddenly ripped away from the vision in his arms by a hand clamped to his shoulder and voices shouting anxiously.

"Erik!" Raoul shouted.

"Christine!" Meg screeched.

After the initial calls, the panicked voices blended into a cacophony of sound, of which Erik could only discern a word here and a phrase there.

"Christine!"

"What …."

"This has happened …."

"What do you mean?"

"She forgets to eat …."

"What do we do?"

"My mother …."

"Where …."

"I am not sure …."

"La Sorelli's dressing room …."

"Hurry!"

"Come on, Erik!"

"Erik, let us go!"

"Now, Erik!"

"Please?"

Then Erik felt one large, strong hand grip his upper arm and a small, delicate hand push at the center of his back. Between the two hands, they propelled him down the corridor towards the backstage dressing rooms of the opera house's prima performers. Quickly, they passed the dressing rooms until at last they came to a dimly lit passageway where only a single gas light flickered sullenly on the wall next to an old, battered wooden door. It seemed to Erik that behind this door was the personal quarters of the Ballet Mistress and her daughters. For he could think of no other reason that Raoul and Meg had led him there. His eyes returned to the face of the angel he carried in his arms. Her body was still limp and her mouth hung slightly open. It was only at that moment that he realized her delicate body radiated an unnatural heat and her coloring was ashen. Alarmed, he turned to Meg.

"I believe she is truly ill. This is not a case of the vapors. Has this happened to her before?"

Erik's comment caught Meg just as her hand pushed down on the door latch. She replied without looking at him.

"Yes, Christine often forgets to eat. Sometimes, she may go a day or two without eating. If we do not take note and she becomes agitated in any way, well, this is what happens. However, my mother knows what to do. Please, come with me."

Turning to Raoul, she placed a hand on his chest and shook her head.

"I think it best if you remain here. You must understand. It just would not be proper. Monsieur Destler will join you in a moment, Raoul …."

Raoul blinked and then wanly smiled.

"Of course, how foolish of me."

Meg returned Raoul's smile and then turned to beckon Erik to follow her.

As Erik made to follow Meg, he felt Christine stir in his arms. Suddenly, her eyes flew open and she flung her arms tightly around Erik's neck.

"Oh! It is true! The angel showed you to me and you are here! You are here!"

Christine's voice sounded muffled as she spoke into the crook of his neck. Erik raised his confused eyes to Meg's and she shook her head, simply motioning for him to follow her. He began to follow Meg into the crowded, yet cozy room, when suddenly a voice spoke, softly near his ear.

"I have waited so very long for you to come to me. Please, you cannot leave me now!"

The lilting voice caressed his ear with the pure beauty of its sound. Her warm breath tickled the shell of his ear only to give way to the sudden hot moistness of her tongue running along the outer edge of his ear. He barely contained a gasp as she briefly sucked his earlobe into her mouth. Just as he felt his body begin to respond in a way that caused him to blush, the sound of her voice, more than the words she spoke, hit him like a bucket of ice water causing him to freeze mid-stride and his body to wilt.

"_That voice! I know that voice! That voice is the one that haunts my dreams! It is the voice of the angel, my guardian angel. The angel that strips away the last mask from my face. And, then … there is a brilliant light and … and, then I wake up …."_

"Mademoiselle, please! We do not even know one another. Please! Do try to control yourself! Think of propriety, for goodness sake! We tread almost outside the strictures of proper behavior now as it is. If we continue in this manner, I shall be responsible for sullying your reputation. Then honor demands that I assuage it by requesting your hand in marriage. Believe me, Mademoiselle, you do not wish for such a fate as to be married to one such as me!"

His words caused her to draw back from her tight embrace of his neck. She craned her neck to look up into his face, her serious eyes searching his face.

"Monsieur, if you believe that I care for the insipid morals of this society, you are sorely mistaken. That I should wish to conform to their rigid ways and small minds when they mock and torment is an absurdity beyond words. The only way I would give reverence to their customs is by thumbing my nose at them. But, wait, your words … your words seemed to imply that anyone marrying you would suffer in that action, a fate worse than death. Please explain yourself, Monsieur. For you have piqued my curiosity. And now, I demand you explain yourself."

His reply, interrupted by the coldest, most emotionless female voice he had ever heard, strangled in his throat.

"While I would adore standing here all evening listening to the two of you discuss comportment and etiquette, I will be frank and tell you … you bore me to tears." Without turning her head, she thunders. "Meg! Why are you leading a young man into our quarters? And, why is he carrying your sister? Or, better yet, do I dare ask why such a thing is happening at all?"

Her icy words are sarcastic and cutting causing the stunned girl to stammer. The woman barks her demand.

"Meg!"

The girl jumps and unconsciously lands en pointe.

"Yes, Maman?"

"An explanation … now!"

The girl began her breathless recitation in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, Maman. Christine went to the chapel instead of staying and watching the ballet. Please do not misunderstand me, Maman. She always watches the first two scenes and if the story interests her, she stays. However, if the first two scenes do not capture her interest, she sneaks away to the chapel. I do not know what happened there tonight, but when I met with her after the ballet, she was not herself. Maman, she was happy! I have never seen her that way, not ever! She greeted Raoul and me with a smile in her eyes and laughter on her lips. Then she saw Monsieur Destler and the next thing I knew, she fainted. Monsieur Destler caught her before she hit the floor. He moved so quickly, Maman! I have never seen anyone move so quickly …."

The woman interjected so as not to allow her daughter's mind to wander from the topic at hand.

"Meg …."

"Oh! Yes, Maman, I am sorry. I thought we should bring Christine here as I know you have dealt with this before."

"Very well. Monsieur Destler, please place Christine on the divan … yes, right there. Now, if you will please excuse us. I must loosen Christine's corset and get some honey into her."

"**NO!"**

Every person in the room froze at the sound of the powerful voice. Even the cold control of Madame Giry slipped. All the eyes in the room turned towards the source of the command and found the diminutive girl with the cascading ringlets was the origin of the voice. She sat up on the divan, her posture stiff and proud.

"Christine …."

Madame Giry began calmly.

"I said, **NO! HE** must remain. I have waited 12 years for him. Do you realize that is more than half of my life? I shall not be separated from him again, especially not so soon."

The girl slumped back onto the divan limp with sudden exhaustion, her face waxen and shiny in the candlelight.

"Please, Monsieur. You must stay. After all, you and I, _"…we're partly little beasts and partly little fowls."_"

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**Author's Note: As always, thank you to those of you who take the time to review! --ny

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**


	6. We're All Mad Here!

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.**_

_**"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat. "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."**_

_**"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.**_

_**"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."**_

_**Alice didn't think that proved it at all, however, she went on. "And how do you know that you're mad?"**_

_**"To begin with," said the Cat, "a dog's not mad. You grant that?"**_

_**"I suppose so," said Alice.**_

_**"Well, then," the Cat went on, "you see a dog growls when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased. Now I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry. Therefore, I'm mad."**_

_**Excerpt from "Alice in Wonderland" by Lewis Carroll**_

**

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Chapter Six – We're All Mad Here**

"Please, Monsieur. You must stay. After all, you and I, _"…we're partly little beasts and partly little fowls."_"

The man's hand involuntarily drifted to brush a stray lock of curls from the young woman's face, which caused him to flinch and her to hiss at the jolt of electricity exchanged in that simple touch. Yet, his hand remained at her face as he seemingly could not find the strength to draw away from her. His hand grew uncharacteristically bold and moved of its own accord to cup her cheek. After a moment, the girl leaned her head into his hand, her eyes dreamily drifted closed. She almost seemed to purr with pleasure at his touch. His thumb emboldened by her acquiescence to him, slowly followed the line of her bottom lip. Her eyes opened to lock with his. As his thumb moved across her upper lip, the girl swiftly opened her mouth and captured his thumb along the outer corner of her lips, where she placed a suggestive kiss on the pad of his thumb. In response to the kiss, both the man and the young woman's eyes closed as a gentle, yet powerfully erotic shiver ran through both of them.

All too soon, they found their moment of quiet bliss harshly ended by the words spoken in the grating voice of Madame Giry.

"I would like to know exactly what it is you think you are doing, Monsieur! And you, Christine Daae, what has gotten into you? Have you gone mad? This behavior is completely unacceptable! Monsieur, remove your hand from the Mademoiselle and leave us … now!"

The man sprang backwards at the woman's outraged words. His movement was halted abruptly as the young woman caught him by the wide lapels of his black tailcoat and held him with her surprisingly strong grip. She turned her usually calm and impassive gaze on the older woman, who suddenly took a step back as she gasped and placed a hand to her heart. The young woman's normally warm brown eyes now held flecks of brightly burning sienna and cinnamon, which gave them an otherworldly glow. Once again, her voice boomed into the silence of the room.

"**I SAID, NO! Dammit! Do not make me repeat myself again, Madame!"**

Erik involuntarily shivered as he could have sworn he felt the temperature of the room drop at least 10° as the quiet icy-cold voice of Madame Giry answered the young woman's challenge.

"Very well, I will not repeat myself Christine, but I am afraid I cannot allow you to stay here and I must ask you to withdraw. These are my rooms and I will not allow such inappropriate behavior to take place here. Behave as a proper young lady or leave. The choice is yours, Christine."

Once again, the room filled with a sound, but this time it was the sound of the young woman's bitter laughter.

"A proper lady, you say? A proper lady? Madame, surely you jest as you must mistake me for someone else. Since when have I ever acted or been expected to act as a proper young lady? Perhaps it was when I was mucking out the horse's stalls? Was it when my hands bled as I scrubbed pots? Or, better yet, was it when I donned breeches, climbed into the flies and …."

A man's quiet, gentle voice interrupted the girl's angry tirade with its soft, soothing sound.

"Christine …."

The man's melodic voice caught the girl's attention and seemed to entrance her with a single word. She ceased speaking, her eyes locked onto the man she held so fiercely.

"My dear, you are not yourself. Please allow Madame to help you. I shall be no farther from you than outside that door. I will not leave you. I give you my word. Please?"

She stared intently into his stormy green eyes as if she searched for an answer there. She released one of his lapels and Erik watched as her hand glided to his face. He sucked in a surprised breath as her fingers moved over his face. She gently traced and softly caressed the ridges, lumps, bumps and dips of his marred flesh with her fingers, which caused a soft moan to escape from the man's lips. Her hand continued its upwards journey and moved briefly to the top of his head, pausing only to run her fingers through his thick honey-brown locks. Her relentless hand traveled downwards now and when it met the back of his head, Erik realized her hand's adventure was at an end. She entwined her fingers in his hair and pulled him towards her. Rising to meet him, she drew him into a hard, wet kiss that was all too brief, before she released him. Her fiery brown eyes met his confused, yet aroused green orbs. She laughed and then graced him with a sardonic smile.

"As long as I have your word, Monsieur. I ask only one other thing of you."

_"Damn! Only one thing?"_ He mused silently.

"And what do you ask of me, Mademoiselle?" His husky voice trembled as he spoke.

"All I ask of you is this: may I have your name, Monsieur?"

He blinked.

"_I touched this woman. She touched me. She kissed me! And, she does not know my name. Is that not ironic?"_

He stood, straightening his clothes and ran his fingers through his hair. Clearing his throat, he gave the woman lying on the divan before him a slight bow. He gracefully bent and clasped her hand in his. He gazed deeply into her eyes and then spoke in a formal tone.

"Mademoiselle Daae, if I may be so bold as to perform this introduction myself, my name is Erik Destler, but I would be most honored if you were to call me Erik."

He bent and placed a lingering kiss on the back of her hand. Rising, he released her hand. He gave a brief bow to Madame and Meg and swiftly exited the room.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Ah, b_lessed silence, but for how long? Oh, I kissed him. Him … I kissed Erik and I hear the music again. Thank you, Papa. Thank you, Angel. Oh, Erik …."_

"Christine Dahlia Daae!"

The shrill voice ended the girl's musings, bringing her back into the dark, cramped rooms beneath the opera house. She frowned slightly.

"I am right here, Madame. There is no need to shout at me."

"Christine … Maman … please do not argue. Maman, she is not well. Can you not see how pallid her face is? Can we not wait to discuss this until she is more like herself? Please?"

Meg's quiet and gentle voice soothed as it attempted to negotiate a truce between her mother and her sister. The pleasant sound of Meg's kind voice caused Christine's hard features to soften somewhat.

"_She has always been so kind to me and did her best to protect me from the torment dealt out by the ballet rats. I owe her at least this moment of peace."_

"Very well, Meg. I will act the part you wish me to play, but only for the moment." She returned her attention to the older woman. "Madame, please I feel rather unwell at the moment. I neglected to partake of nourishment and am now reaping the consequences of my foolishness. Please, help me."

The older woman's eyes narrowed as she gazed upon the frail girl reclining on the divan.

"_Is this truly Christine? She has never given me one moment's grief since the day I brought her here. What has occurred to cause her to act thus? Has she fallen into madness? Oh Gustave, my friend, why did you promise to send your child the Angel of Music? What were you thinking? Well, Gustave, what do I do now? She believes your angel sent that young man to be hers. And, God help me! There is something between those two. I could feel the heat radiating from them. When they touch, I could almost see the sparks flying between them. I know they could feel them. You placed your daughter into my care. She is a child no longer, but a young woman. Yet, she is as innocent of the ways of the world as a child is. God forgive me! I thought her slow and she proved otherwise. Now, I thought her mad, but seem to be just as wrong. What am I to do? What do I do?"_

With a heaving sigh, the older woman lifted her eyes in silent supplication and froze. Whether it was a trick of the light and the shadows or the answers she sought, she did not know. For a moment she was quite certain she saw a shape as it hovered near the ceiling above Christine. A heavenly shape. One with wings. An angel.

"Oh my God!"

She began and her eyes darted to Christine, who smiled broadly at her.

"_The child saw it too. She knows."_

"Maman! Are you all right? What is it? What is wrong?"

Meg cried, rushed to her mother's side, but the older woman shook her head and held out her hand to ward off her concerned child.

"It is nothing, Meg. I am fine. Do not worry yourself, child." She took a deep breath and continued. "Meg, please fetch me the jar of honey and a spoon, please?"

The girl looked at her uncertainly for a moment, then nodded her head and walked to the next room.

Madame Giry moved to Christine's side and dropped to the floor. She brushed another errant lock of curls from the girl's face and hesitantly smiled.

"Well, Christine, it seems your father has kept his promise to you this night. I only pray that you do not forget that he is but a man. He is not an angel. Remember that child. Monsieur Destler is not an angel. Promise me that you will not forget and I shall not thwart you."

Brown eyes lovingly lock with smoky blue eyes.

"I promise, Madame. I truly promise."

They nodded and smiled at one another, each satisfied that they now fully understood the other.

"Megan Giry! Do not dawdle, child! I need that honey now. Then, I need you to run to the kitchen and tell Cook to give you some things. I will make a list of things I need, but you must hurry!"

The girl rushed back into the room with a brown crock and large wooden spoon. She handed the items to her mother.

"Maman, this is the only spoon I could find that would fit inside the pot."

"Thank you, Meg. This is fine. Now, dip the spoon into the honey and spin it until it does not drip. Then, feed it to your sister. I will go and write my note to Cook."

The agitated girl bobbed her head in understanding and opened the jar. She placed the lid on the small table next to the divan. She took her mother's place on the floor next to Christine and began to feed the honey to the now exhausted girl.

"Maman, how much should I give her?"

"Three spoons should be enough."

"Very well, Maman. Three spoonfuls."

The scratching of the quill on paper filled the otherwise silent room and then that sound ended.

"There. Finished."

The woman returned to the divan.

"I will take over, Meg. How many has she had?"

"Two, Maman."

"Very good. Here take this note to the Cook. You may have your young man accompany you to the kitchen. I would appreciate it if you would ask Monsieur Destler to join us once again. Yes, Megan. You heard correctly. Now, go!"

The now completely baffled girl nodded, folded the note, placed it in the pocket of her skirt and left the room.

"Well, Christine. I believe you will keep your promise to me, but I must also insist that the young man make a promise. He must promise to behave as a gentleman in regards to you."

"I understand, Madame. You must do as you will or you will have no peace in your mind. Only I beg that you choose your words carefully and your manner be kind. Can you do this for me? Please?"

"Yes, Christine. I will go easy on your young man. I know that you are fated to be together. I know that and you know that, but I do not know if **_he_** knows that, hence …."

"Hence, the promise."

"Yes. Hence, the promise."

Closing her eyes, the young woman smiled and murmured.

"My young man …."

* * *

**Author's Note: As always, thank you to those of you who take the time to review! --ny

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**


	7. The Man Who Wasn't There

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**Antigonish**_

"_**Yesterday upon the stair,  
I met a man who wasn't there.**_

_**He wasn't there again today.  
Oh! How I wish he'd go away!"**_

_**William Hughes Mearns, 1899**_

* * *

**Chapter Seven – The Man Who Wasn't There**

Erik exhaled noisily as he exited the room, placed his hand to his lips and stared blankly into space.

"_I cannot believe what just happened in there! We kissed! We touched! Oh my God! We just did those things in front of Meg and her mother! Merde!"_

The look on his face half smirk, half grimace.

"_She touched my face and still, she smiled at me and kissed me."_

The smirk and the grimace replaced by a look of stunned realization. His eyes slipped closed. He relived and reveled in the memory of her touch upon his marred flesh. He shivered and gooseflesh ran up and down his arms. She had lit a fire within him. Just the thought of her or the memory of her sweet face caused his chest to ache and the lower part of him to throb. He knew he wanted more. His body needed more. Just the thought of her made him feel breathless and his entire body hot, hard and ready. He did not know what to do. Well, he knew what he wanted to do, but thought he would never be able to act on those feelings. Those feelings were ones he had never expected to experience. Her kiss had been his first. He hoped it would not be his last. An errant thought crossed his mind.

"_I wonder. Was that kiss her first kiss too?"_

Somehow, the answer to that question seemed very important, but Erik knew he had no way of discovering what the answer was. At least not at the moment. Hopefully, he … no, they would be able to meet again and he could ask her.

"_And, how precisely do I go about asking her. Excuse me, Mademoiselle Daae. I am completely inexperienced in the art of love and I would like to inquire as to your level of expertise. Oh, that would certainly win her heart. Erik, you are such a fool. This woman could never love you. She was either feverish or she was toying with you. I do not believe the young lady is the type to dally with a man's affections. So, I wager her actions were due to the ramblings of a fevered mind."_

He squeezed his closed eyes even more tightly shut.

"_Oh, if I could have but one wish, but if wishes were horses, beggars would ride."_

It was only at that moment that Erik realized that someone had taken hold of his shoulders and was shouting into his face.

"Erik! What happened? Are you well? My God, man, what happened in there? I know that you are normally five shades paler than most men are, but you look so pale I believe you could be mistaken for a marble statue!"

Quickly composing himself, Erik opened his eyes and found Raoul standing before him. The young man's pale blue eyes staring intently at Erik with his hands firmly gripping Erik's shoulders. He gave Raoul a sheepish smile and gently disentangled himself by stepping away from him. He held up his hand and shook his head.

"I hardly know where to begin, Raoul. Please, I need to think. I am sorry, but …"

"What ever you need, Erik. After all, what are friends for anyway?"

The young man smiled gently, moved to the other side of the corridor and leaned against the wall. He folded his arms across his chest and after silently observing his friend, cocked his head thoughtfully.

"Take all the time you require, but if you should need an ear to bend, I am always willing."

Erik smiled gratefully at his friend.

"I know, Raoul. Ever since we met, you have always been a true friend."

The man leaned back against the wall across from the young Vicomte. He closed his eyes and remembered the first time Raoul had acted as his friend.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"_**Fromage de tête! **_**¹** That's what his face looks like! Monsieur, you have the face of fromage de tête and, quite possibly, smell like one too!"

The boy snickered and roughly shoved Erik as he mocked him. His friends laughed as Erik's ankle twisted on the edge of a cobblestone and he stumbled. The group of boys encircled him, pushing and pawing at Erik, but he continued to walk unheeding along the street.

"Nah! He don't smell like fromage. Fromage smell too good. This one, he smell like he dead! Hey! He even look like a corpse with that rotten face. Ah, mon dieu!"

A second boy jeered at Erik and kicked him in the back of his knee.

Erik took in his situation. A group of four boys had begun to follow him and make comments on his face almost as soon as he had stepped off the train and onto the platform at the station. The boys were unkempt and dirty. They most likely were living on the streets of Paris and making their way through life committing petty thefts. He wondered how long it would take before the group of boys tired of tormenting him. He hoped it would be soon.

"_Why is it that I always seem to cross paths with people like this? Why can I not be like the man who wasn't there?_ _I should have stayed in Milan for the summer. Italians are so much more accepting of people who are different. The way these boys act, makes me ashamed to be French. Just ignore them, Erik. Keep walking. They will tire of you soon enough."_

Unfortunately, for the young man, the moment that thought crossed his mind was the same one that a fifth boy joined the group. This boy was unusually tall and burly. The only feature that told his age was the lack of stubble on his face. Otherwise, Erik would easily have mistaken him for a man older than Erik's own 21 years. Erik immediately sensed that this boy with his unruly red hair and ruddy complexion was truly dangerous. The entire situation suddenly seemed to shift from one of a juvenile prank to something much more ominous.

"_Merde!"_

The redhead lazily strolled alongside Erik and began to inquire.

"Monsieur Corpse! My associates and I are in grave need of coin. Surely, a fine gentleman, such as yourself can spare several sous or, perhaps, a few francs. Would you care to act as our patron and provide the means for my associates and me to spend a night at Madame Bollock's bordel?"

Erik found the boy's request for money absurd, but knew that whether or not he complied with the request for money, he would not walk away from this encounter unscathed. His eyes scanned the area and although he was on a main street in the middle of the day, not a soul was in sight. The early summer heat had driven most people inside. He was alone. Inwardly, he sighed and readied himself for the impending fight. The sudden silence of the group caused Erik to realize that the redhead was waiting for Erik to respond to his demand.

"Silas, maybe he be deaf and dumb! Sure! His brain be just as twisted as his face."

The group laughed, but the redhead silenced them with a glare.

"Well, Monsieur?"

"It is with the utmost regret that I must decline your gracious invitation to act as your patron. I am newly returned to Paris today. I find my funds severely depleted by the cost of my transportation. However, perhaps, if you direct your attention to those persons gathering near the opera house, you would find persons with more means than me." Erik gave a mock half-bow. "Good day, Messieurs."

For an instant, the redhead stared dumbly at the young man before comprehension slowly dawned in his eyes and caused his fists to clench in anger. Then his eyes narrowed and a feral smile slid across his features.

"Monsieur, you will come to regret your decision and your regret will not be a long time in coming."

Erik shrugged his shoulders and replied.

"Believe me, Monsieur I already regret my decision to return to Paris. However, I hope that you may retire this day with a few regrets of your own."

The young man's body tensed as he readied himself for the confrontation he now knew was unavoidable.

The redhead's arm shot out and nearly connected with Erik's jaw, but the bulky body of the boy did not move nearly as quickly as the young man's slender body. Erik nimbly dodged the blow and moved into the street.

"_I will not be so lucky next time. Here they come!"_

And just as the young ruffians began to fall upon Erik, taking hold of his arms and pinning him to the ground another voice rang out. The voice, while young, was definitely of a higher class than the urchins attacking him were.

"Stop! Unhand him! Phillipe, you must make them stop! Five against one? I would hardly call that fair."

Erik swore he heard a soft chuckle.

"Yes, Raoul. That is hardly fair. Would you like me to do something about it?"

"Of course! We cannot turn our backs on this man! That would be dreadfully unthinkable! Please, Phillipe? Please?"

The sound of a steel blade sliding from its scabbard cut through the midday air and the group of boys scattered like leaves in the autumn wind.

"That showed them! Thank you, Phillipe! Are you alright, Monsieur?"

Erik looked up from the ground and met a pair of gentle, earnest pale blue eyes.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik shook his head and found the same pale blue eyes staring intently at him. He could feel the silent questions, Raoul wished to ask. He gratefully accepted his friend's patient silence.

"_I should tell him …."_

Opening his mouth to provide his friend with a complete report of the events that took place within Madame Giry's home, Erik's words were cut short by an agitated Meg Giry throwing open the quarter's door.

"Raoul! Maman requires me to go to Cook and request the things on this list. Would you care to accompany me to the kitchen?"

With a courtly bow, Raoul warmly responded.

"That would be an honor and a pleasure for me to do, Mademoiselle Giry."

He offered his arm to the ballerina and turned to escort her to the kitchen, but the girl hesitated. She turned back to Erik.

"Monsieur Destler, my mother requested the honor of your presence … now!"

When the man remained rooted to the spot, Meg, in a sudden and unconscious imitation of her mother, placed her hand upon her hip, arched her eyebrow high upon her forehead and her voice became that of a martinet.

"Monsieur Destler, I would appreciate it very much if you would act before my mother grows another day older, please?"

He nodded numbly.

"But, of course."

And with that, Meg and Raoul hurried away to the kitchen and Erik cautiously slipped back inside the Giry home.

* * *

**¹** **What is _fromage de tête_?** Quite simply: lunch meat, but maybe that's too simple. _Fromage de tête_ consists of chunks of meat, fat and skin taken from the head, and sometimes feet, of the pig, and occasionally of veal or sheep, that are "glued" together with gelatin. _Fromage de tête_ takes one of two different shapes. Either wrapped in pig skin and shaped like a fat sausage or formed using a simple tart mold. The way to eat _Fromage de tête_ is cold, often with some mustard and maybe a few cornichons. However, your vegetarian authoress finds this recipe about as appealing as haggis!**

* * *

Author's Note: Please read and review!

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**


	8. In the Arms of an Angel

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

**"_Angel"_**

**"**_**Spend all your time waiting,  
for that second chance,  
for the break that would make it okay.  
There's always some reason,  
to feel not good enough,  
and it's hard at the end of the day.  
I need some distraction.  
Oh, beautiful release.  
The memory seeps from my veins.  
Let me be empty,  
and weightless and maybe,  
I'll find some peace tonight.**_

**_In the arms of the angel,  
fly away from here.  
From this dark, cold hotel room,  
and the endlessness that you fear.  
You are pulled from the wreckage,  
of your silent reverie.  
You're in the arms of your angel,  
may you find some comfort here._**

**_So tired of the straight line.  
And everywhere you turn,  
there's vultures and thieves at your back.  
And the storm keeps on twisting.  
You keep on building the lies,  
that you make up for all that you lack.  
It don't make no difference.  
Escaping one last time.  
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness, oh!  
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees._**

**_In the arms of an angel,  
fly away from here.  
From this dark, cold hotel room,  
and the endlessness that you fear.  
You are pulled from the wreckage,  
of your silent reverie.  
You're in the arms of the angel,  
may you find some comfort here.  
You're in the arms of your angel,  
may you find some comfort here."_**

**

* * *

Chapter Eight – In the Arms of an Angel**

The striking pair moved hurriedly through the dark corridors of the opera house. With the lithe blonde in the lead, she never paused as she led her companion through the maze of passageways.

"Meg, please slow down a bit." Raoul gasped. "Not all of us practice dance with your mother!"

She scoffed haughtily at the winded young man.

"Monsieur le Vicomte, are you implying that a delicate flower of the ballet, such as me, has more endurance than a big, strapping young man, such as you?"

Coquettishly using all of her feminine wiles, she batted her eyelashes at him prettily.

He bent over with his hands clutching his sides and wheezed. He retorted weakly.

"No, not at all, Mademoiselle. I imply nothing. I am simply uttering a statement of fact!"

They laughed.

"Really, Raoul, we must make haste. Cook leaves for home soon and I really must bring back something for Christine to eat." The girl's eyes take on a faraway look for a moment. "She is acting so strangely. I have never seen her like this before. I am truly worried for her."

"Well, let it not be said that I lagged behind and denied Christine her sustenance! Lead on, my love!"

Quickly, he glanced up and down the corridor and after making certain there was no one to act as witness or to carry the tale to Meg's mother, he leaned down and placed a quick kiss upon the girl's lips. They stared deeply into one another's eyes, then holding out her hand to Raoul, he grasped it firmly within his own. Involuntarily, they sighed in unison, then, they continued their mad dash for the kitchen.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"_Monsieur Destler, my mother requested the honor of your presence … now!"_

Erik remained leaning against the wall, as Meg's words echoed inside his head. The prospect of being in Christine's presence again left him feeling thrilled, nervous and almost overwhelmingly aroused. The girl literally was his angel. The angel of his dreams. Both savior and executioner. Glancing down, he frowned and attempted to adjust the evidence of his arousal. Shaking his head, he buttoned his coat and sighed.

"_I guess there is no delaying this any longer. It is time for me to do the honorable thing. Fortunately, in this instance, the honorable thing and the thing I desire most in the world just happen to be one and the same thing. I can only pray she does not refuse me and can learn to love me, just as I learned to love her years ago."_

He pushed away from the wall, tugged at the front of his coat, smoothed back his hair and brushed off the sleeves of his coat. For what was most likely the first time in his life, Erik wished he had a mirror so he could perform a proper inspection of himself.

"_This will have to suffice. Well, Erik, when one wishes to move from one place to another, one must move by placing one foot in front of the other and then repeat. The name of this simple action you cannot seem to perform is walking. Come, Erik, take little steps. If you do not at least take little steps, you will not get anywhere at all. And, she is expecting you. If you do not move, she may change her mind and not wish to see you again."_

A second voice of his own creation joins the first voice inside his head.

"_Who said she wanted to see you again, Erik? Christine did not ask for you. Madame Giry did."_

A third voice thundered.

"_Stop it! This is just wonderful! Now I am discussing myself in the third person inside my own mind. Just stop it. I will never know anything if I stay here in the hall. I will spend the rest of my life wondering about what might have been …. No, that will not do at all."_

Inhaling deeply and then slowly releasing the breath, he turned, faced the door, raised his hand and knocked firmly on the rough wood.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Antoinette Giry knew her reputation. Point of fact, she had diligently worked on perfecting its development and she was no longer certain when the act had become the reality. She knew the ballet rats feared her wrath, which mostly revealed itself to them in the form of her cane stomping out her irritation on the floor. The gently soothing voice of her youth gave way to the tight, emotionless facade that found its only breach in her searing and often scathing sarcasm. She dressed only in black, not in mourning for her late husband, but in mourning of her lost opportunities. Although she attained her goal of prima ballerina, she had not been able to hold onto that prize for long. First, she became pregnant with Meg and just as she began to make her comeback from the pregnancy, she had fallen and suffered a spiral fracture of the tibia. That fall broke more than her leg. It broke her spirit and her heart. To protect herself, she chose to hide behind a mask of cold pride.

Tonight all of her carefully constructed defenses had been shattered. Years of effort, destroyed in an instant. Her mask torn away by Christine's angel and now, she must confront the man who was the unknowing gift of Christine's angel.

"_I cannot do this with Christine present. I simply cannot. I doubt whether they will be able to concentrate on anything other than each other. Christine must retire to her room. It is as simple as that. He seems to be an honorable man. He will understand. Now, I must make Christine understand."_

She leaned forward and gently ran her fingers through the girl's tangled mass of curls.

"Christine? Child, are you awake?"

"Hmmm …. Oh, yes, Madame. I am awake."

"I need your understanding. Can you hold your temper in check and listen to what I have to say?"

The serious, yet tender, tone of the woman pierced Christine's foggy consciousness.

"I will try, Madame. What do you need to say?"

"When I speak with your young man, I think it best if you not be present."

When the girl made no attempt at protest, she continued.

"I intend on asking him to carry you to your bedroom and I ask that you remain there. When Meg returns with your dinner, she will bring it to you in your room. Please eat as much as you possibly can. I need you to do this for me. Will you do this for me, Christine? Please?"

The girl sighed.

"Of course, Madame. I apologize for my outburst earlier. You did nothing to warrant it. I have no excuse for my behavior."

"Nonsense, child. You need not apologize to me. I only ask that you take better care of yourself in the future. You cannot neglect your health, especially not now."

"Thank you, Madame. I …."

A knock on the door cut the girl's words short and both women sighed. Antoinette rose from the floor and smoothed her skirt before walking to the door. After carefully arranging her features into their usual emotionless mask, she opened the door.

"Monsieur Destler, please come in. We have things we need to discuss."

"Yes, Madame. I am very much aware of the fact that we need to talk. How is Christine?"

The young man's eyes inadvertently strayed toward the divan, but he caught himself before he locked his eyes on the girl reclining there. His eyes and attention returned to the woman standing before him.

"She is better, but she still needs to eat. I think it would be best if she rested in her bedchamber rather than here on the divan. I do not think she should walk yet and as I am unable, would you carry her there for me?"

"Of course. Anything I can do to help, you only need but ask and I will gladly do it."

"Thank you, Monsieur."

The woman stepped aside and as she did so swept her arm toward the divan. After giving the woman a hesitant nod, Erik strode to the girl whom he thought of as his angel.

"Christine?"

Her eyelids swiftly lifted at the sound of his voice and both froze as their gaze locked. Neither the man nor the woman seemed to breathe and their eyes became dark with desire. After a moment, the man visibly trembled as a beatific smile spread across Christine's features. Their hands began to lift with the apparent intention of caressing one another's cheeks, but fell limply to their sides when Madame Giry cleared her throat. Erik blinked and Christine closed her eyes.

"Christine?"

Erik began again.

"I will take you to your room now, if you are agreeable with that."

"You may take me anywhere you wish, Erik."

The girl murmured so quietly that Erik barely heard her, but as the import of her words filtered into his mind, Madame lay a hand upon his shoulder. Her hand seemed to root him firmly to the earth and helped him maintain his calm.

"Perhaps, another time, Mademoiselle."

He uttered his reply with an almost imperceptible smile and then easily lifted the willing young woman into his arms. Turning to Madame Giry, he waited.

"Madame, if you would be so kind as to show me the way?"

She inclined her head and began to walk down a short hallway.

"Her room is just this way, Monsieur."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Laying Christine down on her bed and leaving her there alone was one of the most difficult things Erik had ever done, perhaps, it was only second to his having to decide between architecture and music. As he gently lay her down, she opened her eyes and stared at him. She spoke not a word, but her eyes roiled with a mass of turbulent emotions that left him weak and completely enthralled by her.

"With Madame's permission, I shall check on you before I depart for my home, that is, if you give your consent as well, Mademoiselle."

She smiled sweetly and nodded. He returned her smile with a very small one of his own.

"I may have something to ask of you before I take my leave of you this night, but I speak out of turn. You rest now, my dear."

He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss upon her brow.

"I await your return, Erik."

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, here it is … Chapter 8! Hope you like it …. I send my sincere thanks to everyone that has left a review. You have fed my ever-growing addiction by reviewing. --ny**

* * *


	9. There was a Young Lady

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.**

* * *

**

**_There was a Young Lady whose eyes,  
were unique as to color and size.  
When she opened them wide,  
people all turned aside,  
and started away in surprise. _**

**_"The Book of Nonsense"_**** – ****_By Edward Lear_**

**

* * *

Chapter Nine – There was a Young Lady**

She listened to the sound of the footsteps retreating from her bedroom. She longed to rise from her bed and fly down the hall after him. She felt an almost overpowering desire, no need, to claim the man she thought of as hers.

_"How can I feel this way? I do not know anything about him. He is a complete mystery to me. I mean, I do not know what he does for a living or where he lives. I do not know if his parents are alive or if he has any brothers or sisters. I do not even know what his favorite color is. Yet, I **feel **as if I know everything about him. He makes me feel so … alive! I have not felt this way in such a long time that I can barely remember the last time I did. When he held me in his arms. When I looked into his eyes. Oh! His eyes and his arms. How strong he is. And, when he looks upon me, I know he sees me. Me, Christine Daae. He does not see the Opera Ghost or Crazy Christine. He sees beyond the mask I wear. He sees someone as lonely and lost as he is. His eyes were so full of longing …." _

Her hand trembled as she raised it to run down the length of her arm, remembering the feel of his body pressing into hers. The passion she felt for this man thrust all other thoughts from her mind. She feared that if Madame could not extract his gentleman's pledge, she would never see him again and that thought frightened her.

_"Please, Angel, please! Do not show him to me, only to take him away again. I could not bear it. I simply could not bear it. I need to know him and have him know me. More than that, I need to join with him. I burn for him. I ache for his touch! He is my destiny." _

Her weary mind spun and Christine groaned, feeling nauseous.

"I hope Meg returns soon." She murmured weakly.

Propping her pillows behind her and scooting carefully onto her back, Christine stared up at the ceiling as she relived each and every word, look and touch visited upon her by Erik. Her attention is suddenly distracted from her thoughts by a subtle play of light and shadows on the ceiling above her. Joy filled her eyes as she recognized the shape. She smiled and addressed the winged shadow above her.

"Hello, my Angel! I do believe I am in your debt. Please accept my most sincere and heartfelt words of thanks. Now, if you will hear this one last prayer and carry it on your swift wings to heaven I will be eternally grateful. Please, Angel, please! Let us be together, let us be happy and let us find our way to the seat of sweet music's heavenly throne. I will beg of you only this and nothing more. Amen."

Christine smiled weakly. Then, turning her head to one side, she closed her eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Lights blinded her so badly that she could not at first determine exactly where it was she stood. The sound of an orchestra began to fill the air all about her as they played the introduction of an aria. She recognized that music. It was from the opera, _"Hannibal."_ It was at that moment of realization that she noticed she was wearing a beautiful white dress. Startled, she lowered her eyelids just enough to cut the glare of the lights. She almost let out a gasp as she saw past the lights out into the crowded auditorium of the opera house. She stood upon the center of the stage. The audience sat and attentively waited for her to sing. She heard her cue and without missing a beat, began to sing.

**_"Think of me,  
think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye.  
Remember me, once in awhile.  
Please promise me you'll try.  
When you find, that once again you long to take your heart back and be free,  
if you ever find a moment spare a thought for me! _**

**_We never said our love was evergreen  
or as unchanging as the sea,  
but if you can still remember, stop and think of me!  
Think of all the things we've shared and seen.  
Don't think about the way things might have been. _**

**_Think of me,  
think of me waking, silent and resigned.  
Imagine me trying so hard to put you from my mind.  
Recall those days look back on all those times.  
Think of the things we'll never do.  
There will never be a day when I won't think of you! _**

**_Flowers fade.  
The fruits of summer fade.  
They have their seasons,  
so do we.  
But, please promise me that sometimes you will think …  
ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-aaah ...  
ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-aaah …  
ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-aaah …  
of me!" _**

Her heart soared along with her voice and as she came to the end of the song, she was stunned to hear the sound of applause. She lifted her eyes to the audience and froze. They were on their feet applauding her!

_"This is my first standing ovation." _

And then the stage around her became thick with single flowers and small bouquets, which members of the audience tossed as a sign of their appreciation and approval. She curtsied deeply, closed her eyes and bowed her head in silent acknowledgment of their gifts. She raised her head and gasped. The opera house and the crowd were gone. She stood at the bottom of a set of stone stairs, which led to her parent's mausoleum. She shivered and noticed that snow swirled lightly around her. Gone was the lovely white dress. She was clad in a simple black skirt and a plain white blouse with a black lace shawl draped about her shoulders. In her hands, she carried a small bouquet of dying roses. Her limbs felt heavy with her grief as she climbed the steps. As she trod upon the final tread, her legs succumbed to her lethargy and she collapsed. She lay weeping in the snow, missing a mother she never had and a father gone too soon. She felt a gentle, but firm hand on her shoulder and raised her head. He was clad all in black and his face hidden within the hood of his cloak. Releasing his hold on her shoulder, he offered her his hand, which she immediately accepted. Her eyes focused solely upon the elegantly gloved hand, she failed to notice that the scene about her had shifted once more. As she tore her eyes away from her companion's hand, she gasped in shock. She stood before a priest, the snowflakes, which had come to rest on her head, transformed into a veil of sheerest white taffeta. The man, whom she now recognized as Erik, smiled at her. She could see the quiet joy in his eyes and then he turned to face the priest. Suddenly, the priest's voice boomed as it recited the marriage vows. Christine felt all eyes in the room turn in silent expectation towards her.

"What …." She began hesitantly.

"Well, do you?" The priest's voice sounded both amused and impatient.

"Père, do I what?" Her small voice queried.

Sudden laughter sounded all around Christine. She attempted to flee from the mocking cacophony of voices all around her, but found she could not extricate her fingers from the firm grip of the hand possessively holding hers. Her gaze fell upon their joined hands and interwoven fingers. Her eyes ran up the black clad arm and halted as she locked her gaze with the man's beautiful deep emerald green eyes. The warmth of his eyes brought peace to her soul and wrapped her body in a blessed silence. He arched his eyebrow and inclined his head in the direction of the priest.

"And, what answer do you give, Christine?" The man in black inquired.

"I do." She murmured.

She found herself returning Erik's radiant smile. He leaned forward, lifted her veil and kissed her chastely on the lips. Their kiss deepened and Christine moaned as Erik's tongue moved to explore her mouth. The couple trembled as one in anticipation of their joining. Their hands moved and caressed one another's bodies.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Suddenly, the hand that caressed became a hand that roughly shook her and Christine's eyes flew open to find a concerned Meg sitting next to her on her bed. Raoul, who was scarlet with embarrassment, stood near the door, his eyes averted from the girls on the bed. Attempting to hide her disappointment at the loss of Erik's embrace, Christine snapped curtly at Meg.

"What do you want?"

Meg pouted and then called to Raoul.

"Raoul, please bring the tray."

Meg stood and frowned. Christine's eyes had always made her feel strange. Whenever she found her gaze locked with Christine's uncanny stare, she had to avert her eyes quickly lest her friend draw her in too deeply and she become lost in their warm brown depths. She shook off the disturbing thoughts and returned her mind to the purpose of her visit.

"We brought you your dinner, Christine. Maman said you should try to eat. That you need to eat more than you need to sleep."

Christine sighed, looked at her disgruntled friend and spoke to her with an earnest sincerity.

"I am sorry, Meg. You startled me out of a most pleasant dream. Please forgive me."

Hearing the genuine contriteness in Christine's voice, Meg turned back to her friend.

"Oh, Christine! There is nothing to forgive. Now, look! We brought you a wonderful meal!"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Please, Monsieur Destler, have a seat."

Madame graciously indicated the armchair across from hers near the fireplace.

"Merci, Madame Giry."

The tall, lean man folded himself into the chair. His earnest eyes met the older woman's appraising gaze. He leaned forward, resting his forearms upon his thighs and nervously clasped his hands. Madame thought she could read a myriad of emotions blazing across his face, but gave him no sign of her own emotional turmoil. She patiently waited for him to begin. Erik suddenly became certain that if he did not convince this woman of his honorable intentions towards Christine that he would never see her again and that thought thoroughly frightened him.

Several moments passed in strained silence before Erik broke the stillness.

"Madame, due to the unusual events, which occured this evening, I feel compelled to provide you with information about who I am and my intentions in regards to Mademoiselle Daae. My name is Erik Charles Destler. I am 30 years old and was born and raised in the town of La Rochelle. My trade is that of an architect and engineer and I am the proprietor of Destler Designs. I employ a staff of eight and I have signed letters of intent for work, which will keep my firm engaged for at least the next three years. My profession provides me with a comfortable income. I own my own home here in Paris on the Rue Saint-Etienne du Mont. It is just off the Place du Panthéon in the 5ème Arrondissement. The house is in between the Sorbonne and the Pantheon. I employ a household staff of four. I believe I am an honest and fair man with no enemies of which I am aware. While I do not make any claim on Mademoiselle Daae's affections, I hold her in the highest regard and I have nothing but noble intentions towards her."

He paused to take a breath and then continued.

"Madame, are you the guardian of Mademoiselle Daae?"

Antoinette bit her lip to suppress the grin that attempted to spread across her lips.

"I was, Monsieur. However, Mademoiselle Daae is 21 years old and is no longer a child. However, I do stand in the place of her mother and father, if that is what you are attempting to ascertain."

"Indeed, Madame. It is."

The man stood and crossed the short distance between the chairs, halting directly in front of Madame Giry. He stood looking down upon her and then gave her a half-bow.

"Madame Giry, I respectfully request your permission to ask Mademoiselle Daae to marry me."

Antoinette gaped in surprise. She thought the man would ask for permission to court Christine. She never imagined he would ask for her hand in marriage.

"Marriage, Monsieur? You do not even know one another. You have only just met. Surely, you should court her first before making such a serious proposal as marriage."

Erik turned from her and she could see his hand reach up to the right side of his face.

"Surely you must realize that courtship will be nigh impossible for the two of us, Madame. You have witnessed our meetings. I have never encountered a person that makes me forget myself as Mademoiselle Daae does. And, I seem to have the same effect on her. If I were to court her, I fear for her reputation. I am only a man albeit an honorable man and I abhor the thought of sullying her character in any way."

He lowered his hand and turned to face the woman.

"Therefore, I believe a proposal of marriage to be the perfect solution. Surely, you must agree with me."

Antoinette carefully studied the solemn face of the man. She could see no dishonesty in him, only an open and earnest sincerity. It was as plain as the cane she carried with her everywhere. He loved Christine. Time made no difference when love came at first sight. She sighed and smiled gently.

"Very well, Monsieur. You have my blessing to ask Mademoiselle Daae for her hand in marriage. However, should she refuse …."

"I do not believe she will, Madame."

Antoinette held up her hand to silence Erik.

"Monsieur, please allow me to finish. If she should refuse your proposal of marriage, I offer my approval for you to court her. Again, as long as she is amenable to such an arrangement."

Erik stepped forward, holding out his hand to Antoinette. She lifted her hand. He caught it in his, raised it to his lips and pressed a brief kiss to the back of it. Then, releasing her hand, he bowed as he spoke.

"Madame, you have my deepest thanks. Please know this, if she consents to be my wife, I shall endeavor to make Mademoiselle Daae the happiest woman on the face of this earth."

Smiling and shaking her head, the woman replied.

"You had best keep your word, Monsieur. I wield a wicked cane and would not hesitate to use it upon your skull should Christine be anything but blissfully happy."

The man started and at the worried look, which clouded the man's eyes, she chuckled. After a moment, he joined her.

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**Author's Note: My thanks to GerrysJackie, TheWickedWitchofOz, Timeflies, Mominator, Lady Winifred and PhantomFan13 for your reviews! You Rock! To all others, please continue to read and review! Reviews are ALWAYS welcome, no matter how old the chapter is. I check FFN's website often as reviews provide inspiration for the current chapter I am writing! --ny**

**MY MOST SINCERE AND GRATEFUL THANKS TO "Ineluctability" FOR THE FFN WORKAROUND! YOU, MY DEAR, ARE A TRUE SCHOLAR AND A GENTLEWOMAN!!! The posting of this chapter would have been delayed several days if it had not been for your assistance! --ny**

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	10. A Most Serious Proposition

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

**_Marriage, a most serious proposition.  
The joining of a man and a woman  
for the purpose of procreation.  
Blessed by God,  
taxed by the government  
and  
ridiculed by single comics the world over._**

**_Nyasia A. Maire_**

**

* * *

Chapter Ten – A Most Serious Proposition**

When at last their mirth faded, Erik met the woman's eyes and he grew serious once more. As he began to speak, Meg and Raoul entered the room with Raoul carrying a large wooden plank. Meg's eyes immediately met her mother's gaze and the older woman nodded. Meg quietly led Raoul down the hall and into Christine's room. Erik could barely see the shape of Raoul outlined in the doorway when his attention returned to Madame Giry.

"I would like to receive your permission to ask if Mademoiselle Daae could accompany me on an outing tomorrow afternoon. Would you be amenable to acting as her chaperone?"

Madame dipped her chin to her chest to hide her smile.

"_This man truly belongs 50 years in the past. He is so very proper and, yet, when he and Christine come together in the same room, he becomes a slave to the passionate feelings he holds for Christine. A proper man. Is that not an oxymoron?"_

A sudden thought occurred.

"Monsieur, have you ever courted a young lady?"

He attempted to disguise his sudden intake of breath as a clearing of his throat, but his eyes betrayed him. It was clear to Antoinette that this man was as much an innocent as Christine. The knowledge relieved her and she happily felt a leaden weight lift from her heart.

He mumbled his choked reply.

"I beg your pardon? What did you say, Monsieur?"

With a bowed head, he gave her his response.

"No, Madame. I have not."

He lifted his eyes once again to hers and continued.

"I do not take this situation lightly, Madame. A man such as me could hardly hope to find a woman who would allow his attentions upon her person. Yet, I feel an undeniable bond with Mademoiselle Daae and for the first time in my life, I find myself hoping that she may feel the same. It is that hope that granted me the courage to declare myself to you. It is that hope that shall give me the strength to propose to her tomorrow."

His voice trailed off and Antoinette surprised herself by taking his hand in hers.

"Monsieur, do not belittle yourself. You have more to offer than you suppose, but I can see that you cannot take my words to heart. Only Christine, only Mademoiselle Daae can erase the skepticism from your mind. In answer to your inquiry regarding a chaperone, I am afraid I must respond with a question of my own. Where do you intend to take her?"

"I thought an outing to le Jardin du Luxembourg, where we would enjoy a picnic lunch."

"A trip to le Jardin du Luxembourg on a Sunday afternoon provides sufficient chaperonage, Monsieur. Besides, if you intend to ask for her hand, I believe my presence would detract from the moment. You have my permission to escort Christine to le Jardin unaccompanied."

"My thanks, Madame." His smile shone radiantly.

"Come, Monsieur. I believe a young lady unknowingly awaits your invitation."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Oh, Christine! There is nothing to forgive. Now, look! We brought you a wonderful meal!"

Returning to sit on the bed next to Christine, Meg turned towards the man standing in the doorway.

"Really, it is alright, Raoul. You may enter. We are both decent and the food is getting cold. Please?"

Raoul hesitantly walked into the room carrying a large wooden tray, his eyes darting about the room in a nervous attempt to avoid staring at the girls on the bed. He stumbled on the rough edge of a floor plank, but caught himself and avoided spilling anything on the tray. He paused and drew himself up to his full height, he focused his eyes on the unoccupied foot of the bed, then rapidly crossed the room. He lay the tray down on the bed. Then, with averted eyes and giving a perfunctory bow to the girls, he swiftly exited the room. Slightly confused, Meg stared at the now closed bedroom door for a moment. She turned to Christine and shook her head.

"Sometimes, I simply do not understand the rules of conduct and behavior he follows. And yet, he always knows exactly what to do. Despite what Phillipe says about his little brother, I have always found Raoul to have a great sense of savoir-faire. He always treats me as if I am his equ …."

She sighs and flashes a smile at her friend, but Christine notices the hint of sadness buried just below the surface of the smile. Christine silently debates whether she should say anything to Meg, but decides that when Meg is ready to talk about it, she will. Deciding to change the subject, Christine turned her attention to the tray.

"So, what is it that smells so delicious?"

Meg's eyes met Christine's and a look of gratitude passed between the girls. Meg's face took on a look of pleased animation as she ran her eyes over the items on the tray.

"Oh, well, I just so happened to catch Cook with the leftovers from La Carlotta's dinner! Look! She requested this crusty bread with garlic and cheese. Then there is this. Cook calls this dish, "pasta." It is noodles tossed with melted butter and garlic. These are Italian sausages. Cook told me that they are spicy, so they might not be a good thing for you to eat. And then, of course, I brought you some plain crusty bread, butter, cheese, apples, a jug of water and a bottle of wine. It is a veritable feast!"

Christine smiled at Meg.

"Thank you so much Meg, but I fear that I could never eat all of this. It is simply too much."

Looking at her friend's blushing cheeks, Christine continued.

"I certainly would not want this good food to go to waste."

She slyly paused and then disingenuously continued.

"I know! Meg, you must help me! Here, have some …."

"Oh, Christine! If Maman were to catch me, she would have both our necks! You know dancers need to be slender and Maman watches me like a hawk."

"Meg, she is not here to watch you now. I will not tell. Come, how often do we have the opportunity to eat food like this? Never. Here, try this bread. It is delicious!"

"Oh! I am so weak-willed! Very well, I really would like to try some of that bread. It smells heavenly and I do so love garlic!"

After sharing a laugh, the two girls then proceeded to make the food disappear.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Antoinette rose from her comfortable armchair and bade Erik to follow her. She led him back down the hall to Christine's bedroom door only to find Raoul leaning against the wall next to the door. At the sight of Madame Giry, the young man sprung to attention and sputtered.

"Madame! Bonsoir!"

"Bonsoir, Monsieur le Vicomte."

The woman smirked at the young man's flushed face. Erik almost laughed as he saw her roll her eyes before she turned to face the door. Without looking at either man, she spoke.

"Please wait here. I will fetch my daughter and ask Mademoiselle Daae if she wishes to receive you for a few moments. I shall return momentarily, Messieurs."

She slipped into the room and the door clicked shut behind her.

Raoul returned to leaning against the wall with his eyes closed and Erik leaned against the doorframe, taking care to not lean upon the door. He studied the younger man for a moment.

"So, are you going to tell me what is going on here, Erik?"

Erik sighed and looked away.

"I honestly have no idea, but if I were to speculate, I believe I am about to become engaged. Well, that is, if she will have me."

"My God! I asked you to be kind to Christine, Erik, but not this. Is marriage not taking things just a bit too far? To act this rashly, you of all people. This is not like you at all. Why do you feel that you must propose to her?"

"I do not expect you to understand, Raoul. Merde, I barely understand myself! I only know this one thing: since I first laid eyes on that woman, she is the only thing of which I can think. Thoughts of her touches, images of her sweet lips, the sound of her angelic voice and the beauty of her sweet scent fill my mind. She consumes me and it frightens me, but I feel I must have her all the same."

Raoul opened his eyes and turned to Erik.

"Love should not frighten you. Why do you feel this way, Erik? Surely, love should make your heart glad …."

Erik interrupted his friend.

"I have not noticed you feeling much joy lately, Raoul. You love Meg, yet your heart is not free of sorrow. Why is that? Do not bother to answer me. I know the reason. Meg is a dancer and you are a Vicomte. In society's eyes, she is fit only to be your mistress, but not your wife. It is unfair and wrong, but that is simply the way of things. My circumstances are similar to yours, only reversed. Society will frown upon a beautiful young woman like Christine marrying a deformed freak. And, please do not deny it! You have witnessed first-hand the atrocities visited upon me because of my appearance. Yet, I will not allow what may be my only chance at happiness to slip through my fingers. I will chance my heart and tomorrow, I shall ask Christine to be my wife. We share something, something very intense. I may not know anything else about her, but I pray she will allow me the honor of spending the rest of my life learning everything else about her. That is all I can ask of her. Oh, and Raoul, do not let Meg slip through your fingers. If you love her, never let her go."

The two men stared at one another for a moment and Raoul opened his mouth to speak, but his words died upon his lips as Meg opened the bedroom door. She slipped out into the hall and seeing Raoul, wound her arm through his. She turned to Erik and smiled sweetly.

"Maman said that you may see Christine now."

"Thank you, Mademoiselle Giry."

Anxiously, he pushed away from the wall and began to walk into the bedroom. Suddenly, he paused.

"Raoul, I shall not be long. Please do not leave without me. I would never be able to hire a cab at this time of night."

His friend smiled and nodded his understanding. The Vicomte and his ballerina watched the tall man turn and walk through the doorway. The door closed softly and they turned towards one another.

"I hope he knows what he is doing." Raoul murmured.

"Oh, Raoul! I think it is just so romantic! And, you know how unhappy Christine has been. Would you begrudge her a chance to find happiness?"

She frowned and turned her face up to his. He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose causing her to giggle.

"No. It is my sincere wish for Christine to be happy and if Erik causes her one moment's heartache, I shall surely thrash him soundly."

Meg's giggle became a chuckle.

"You would have to take a place in line behind my Maman, Raoul. You know better than anyone else just how protective she is of her daughters. She shall watch over Christine, but I really do not think it necessary. He is a good man. Somehow, I am certain they belong together. It will not be easy for them, but anything worth having is worth the effort to get it."

He smiled down at her gently.

"When did you become so wise, ma chère?"

Her gaze dropped and the laughter fell away from her lips.

"Ever since I fell in love with you, Raoul."

**

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Author's Note: Please read and review to let me know what you think! --ny

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**


	11. A Woman Absent

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

"_**Absent**__**, adj. Peculiarly exposed to the tooth of detraction; vilified; hopelessly in the wrong; superseded in the consideration and affection of another.**_

_**To men a man is but a mind.  
Who cares what face he carries or what form he wears?  
But woman's body is the woman.  
O, stay thou, my sweetheart, and do never go,  
but heed the warning words the sage hath said:  
a woman absent is a woman dead."**_

_**Jogo Tyree**_

_**Excerpt from "The Devil's Dictionary" – By Ambrose Bierce**_

* * *

**Chapter Eleven – A Woman Absent**

He walked across the room with an air of confidence he did not feel. He felt surprised that a being as frail as the one lying on the bed before him, propped up by numerous pillows could exude such an enormous sense of calm and control. She wore a simple nightgown of gray linen. She wore her long hair braided into two plaits. The worn comforter adorning her bed covered her modestly. Her hands lay atop the comforter, clasped serenely upon her lap. Sensing the movement in the shadows, she raised her eyes to his and smiled.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur Erik. You wished to see me?"

Erik blushed at her words and not for the first time did the thought cross his mind, that this slip of a woman enjoyed tormenting him with words, which held two meanings – one, innocent and one, not. His eyes shifted towards Madame Giry whose eyes were intently observing Christine when she felt his gaze upon her. The woman acknowledged him with a brief nod before she spoke.

"I shall leave you two for now, but please Monsieur, make your visit short. Christine needs to sleep so that she may fully recover by tomorrow."

She raised an eyebrow at him with a small, knowing smile and then giving Christine an affectionate pat on her hand, she withdrew from the room.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Antoinette breathed a sigh of relief as she entered her sitting room and then froze, shocked at the sight that met her eyes. Sitting on the settee, locked in a passionate embrace and kissing one another deeply were Meg and the young Vicomte de Changy. Lost in the throes of their passion, the two lovers had not noticed that they were no longer alone. Antoinette's stunned silence broke as she saw Raoul's hand begin to slip from her daughter's shoulder and slide to the front of her chest.

"Monsieur le Vicomte! What do you think you are doing to my daughter? Meg! To your room, now!"

She pointed towards the hallway with her cane before she swung around to face the somewhat breathless young man. Meg let out a mortified squeal, pushed herself from Raoul's arms and dashed out of the room with her hands covering her crimson cheeks. The flush on Raoul's face almost matched Meg's, but Antoinette could tell the cause of his flushed cheeks was not from embarrassment. The young man turned and began to make a hasty retreat, heading in the direction of the quarter's front door. His step checked by the woman's growl of displeasure.

"Monsieur le Vicomte … Raoul de Changy! How dare you compromise my daughter? Do not move from that spot! I have held my tongue until now, but now you will feel the lash of it. I welcomed you into my home and this is how you repay me? You take advantage of my daughter's innocence and you do it under my roof. I think not, Monsieur! You have just given me ample evidence of your unsavory intentions towards my daughter. And, you, Monsieur, call yourself a gentleman? Bah! Why should I allow you to enter my home again? Why should I grant you permission to call on my daughter again? Please, Monsieur. I would very much like to know."

A silence pervaded the entire room so heavy that the man bowed under its weight. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he spoke in a voice so quiet it forced Antoinette to take a step closer to him in order that she could hear his reply.

"I have no excuse, other than I am in love with your daughter, Madame. I truly love her. I do!"

He hung his head and turned away from the outraged older woman.

"Well, that is all very fine and good for you to say, but what do you intend to do with your feelings for my daughter?"

Raoul fumbled in his pocket for a moment and then withdrew a small square jeweler's box. He held the box out to Antoinette, who realizing what the box contained let out a shocked hiss.

"You intend to propose to my daughter? You wish to take my Meg as your wife?"

Dropping his gaze to the floor, he fidgeted and then muttered.

"If you will allow it and she will have me, yes."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Christine nodded towards the chair Madame Giry had just vacated.

"Monsieur, this has been a trying day for the both of us. Please pull the chair up closer to the bed or …."

She paused, as she graced Erik with a devilish grin before she continued.

"There is plenty of room here next to me on the bed. Actually, Erik, I would prefer the second choice. I would very much love to cuddle with you as well as …."

"Mademoiselle! Please? That is quite enough! I find I have a difficult enough time controlling myself in your presence without you tempting me further. Am I simply sport to you or dare I hope that you may harbor some feelings for me? If you simply wish to toy with my affections and have no other interest in me, please tell me now and I will leave you in peace."

The two passed several moments in an awkward silence. Erik stared at Christine and Christine stared at her clasped hands. Erik sighed, his shoulders sagged in defeat as he turned to leave. He walked to the door, his hand moved to turn the latch, but hovered there for a moment. Without turning his head away from the door, he sadly spoke his final words to her.

"I thought you felt something for me. I apologize for my mistake. Adieu, ma amour le plus chère!"

Suddenly, the coquette disappeared and the uncertain girl revealed herself as she called out to Erik.

"No! Please! Do not leave. You do not owe me an apology. You made no mistake. I do have feelings for you, Erik. It is I who owe you an apology. Please accept my apology. I could not stop myself from teasing you because …."

Her trembling voice trailed off into silence. Erik turned his intense green eyes upon her.

"Why? Why would you act this way? Please, Christine. Tell me why? I need to know."

His words were quiet, gentle and sincere and their musical quality soothed her soul. She raised her eyes to his.

"Because I am afraid."

Her words drew him to her side and he knelt on the floor next to her bed. He tenderly parted her clenched fists and held one in each of his own. His eyes met hers and a hesitant smile crept across her mouth. He lifted her hands and turning them over, placed a soft kiss at the pulse point of each wrist.

"Are you afraid of me, Christine?"

She shook her head, which caused several tendrils of hair to escape her plaits. The curls bounced against her cheeks.

"No, Erik. It is not you that I fear. I fear the feelings you arouse in me. I have not allowed myself to feel anything for anyone in such a long time. It frightens me. I am sorry that I tried to push you away. Can you forgive me?"

"Oh, Christine. There is nothing to forgive."

"Thank you. Please be patient with me. I have spent the last 12 years avoiding speaking with people and I am not used to someone wanting to talk to me. I fear I may not be a very stimulating conversationalist."

Erik looked down at their joined hands and caressed the backs of her hands with the pads of his thumbs. A slightly wicked smile graced his mouth.

"But surely, my dear, you must realize that my presence is not in high demand on the social circuit. I, too, am unused to speaking with people and, yet, I find that we seem to be conversing rather well together."

She hesitated.

"But, why?"

Confused he responded.

"Why?"

She nodded.

"Why is it that you do not speak with many people? You are a kind, handsome, soft-spoken, considerate and intelligent man. I do not understand why you are unused to people."

He smiled.

"Ah, but that is because you are blind, my dear."

"Erik, I am not blind. My eyesight is perfect."

He sighed.

"It is not your eyes that are blind, but your heart. You do not judge me because of my twisted face. You see the person within. That is rare. Most people look no further than the flesh, so they find me to be a monster. You look upon me with the eyes of your soul and find a man."

She blushed and turned her head away in embarrassment.

"Christine? May I ask you something?"

She nodded.

"Would you accompany me on an outing to le Jardin de Luxembourg tomorrow? I thought we could bring a picnic lunch, go for a walk and I could show you my favorite fountain in Paris."

"Oh, Erik! Yes. I would love to go with you. Thank you for inviting me. What time should I expect you?"

"Would Noon be alright with you?"

"Noon would be wonderful!"

"Well, then, Noon it is. Now, I believe you need to get some rest and I should be leaving as Raoul is waiting for me. Until tomorrow, Christine."

"Until tomorrow, Erik."

**

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Author's Note:** Next up … the outing! Hope you like it. Please read and review! --ny**

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**


	12. Thou art that Madness

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**Flame**_

_**Thou art that madness of supreme desire,  
which lacking, beauty is but dross and clay.  
Within thy veins is all the fire of day  
and all the stars divinity of fire.  
Thine are the lips and loins that never tire,  
and thine the bliss that makes my soul dismay.  
Upon thy breast what god at midnight lay,  
to make thy flesh the music of his lyre?**_

_**Ah! Such alone should know thy loveliness!  
Ah! Such alone should know thy full caress,  
O goddess of intolerable delight!  
I beg of Fate the guerdon and the grace,  
far beyond death, to know in thine embrace  
eternal rapture in eternal night.**_

_**Excerpt from "**__**Poetica Erotica**__**" By George Sterling, 1921**_

**

* * *

Chapter Twelve – Thou are that Madness **

The man cried out and then bolted upright in his bed. His hand frantically covered the right side of his face. He sat there frozen in place as his ragged breathing and heaving chest calmed. He drew in a long calming breath through his nose and then slowly blew it out his mouth. The breathing exercise had not helped. Crumpling forward, he leaned his elbows on his thighs and placed his face into his hands. A wave of despair swept through the man and he began to weep in earnest.

"_Why? Why would this dream not leave me alone? The life I dream about is not mine, so why do I weep? Why does this dream both haunt and horrify me? I hoped my meeting Christine would banish the dream, but no. The dream came tonight clearer than ever before and I can remember everything that happened in it. I never could do that before tonight. Meeting the angel of my dream did not rid me of them."_

After carefully wiping away his tears with the palms of his hands, he lay down on his side and tightly clasped his pillow to his chest. He moaned into the pillow as he remembered the dream.

"That poor boy!" He lamented brokenly.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

He was filthy dirty and disheveled. His lank hair crawled with lice and the burlap rags he used as clothes, infested with fleas. His body bore a multitude of flea bites and the marks, both old and recent, of a whip's lash. For a boy of about 12 years of age, he was extremely tall, close to six feet tall and due to the near starvation diet forced on him by his keeper, the boy was cadaverously thin. A cage of iron bars was the place he called his home and the place of his ultimate humiliation. He traveled with a band of gypsies as the main attraction in their carnival's sideshow. His keeper, a cruel, dark and ugly man named, Jaevert, had decided to call him, "The Devil's Child." They placed his deformity on display and charged townspeople for the privilege of gawking at him. Whenever the gypsies set up their camp, he knew he would have to suffer through four shows a day. They placed him in front of an audience and then Jaevert stripped him of his sack for the amusement and horror of paying customers.

Life with the gypsies had not been the boy's choice. The gypsies had found him unconscious, beaten and bloody in an alley when he was what he had guessed to be 9 years old. When he awoke, he found himself locked in a cage. He had no memory of his life before the gypsies and no hope of one away from them. So, he existed from town to town, show to show, in this hellish limbo. Yet, while he had no hope of escape, he was ever watchful of an opportunity to try. He made several attempts at escape over the years, but none succeeded in doing anything but infuriate Jaevert into beating him senseless.

Today's beating had been somewhat of a surprise. The boy sat in his cage and waited for the gypsy to enter his cage. This was the last show of the night and the final show in this town. The carnival's schedule called for them to move on to the next town in the morning. The boy sat hunkered down amidst the stinking straw lining the floor of his cage. He held his one possession in his hands. He played with a small stuffed animal in the form of an organ grinder's monkey rather apathetically. The monkey held a cymbal in each paw. The boy made the monkey's arms move, so the cymbals made a small clinking sound. When Jaevert entered the cage, the boy did not acknowledge his presence he simply continued to play with the monkey's cymbals. Jaevert began to extol the features of the boy's frightening countenance to the audience with his usual leering and eye rolling speech. When the man turned to the boy and saw him playing, a member of the audience made a disparaging remark.

"Hey! I thought this thing was supposed to be frightening! I paid good money to see a freak, not a child playing with his toy. You'd better make good on your boast or I want my money back!"

With those words, it seemed as if the entire audience had decided to complain. Jaevert feared he would have to refund the entire audience's money. He turned to the boy and backhanded the toy from his hands. Then grabbing his whip, he snapped it in the air above the boy's head. The boy remained where he was, not moving a muscle. Jaevert roughly grabbed the boy by the back of his neck and yanked the sack from his head. He turned the boy to face the audience and silence immediately fell. The man slowly turned the boy's face, so everyone in the tent would get the opportunity to stare to his or her heart's content.

Some leered, some jeered. Some cried out and turned away. Others swooned, while others laughed. The entire audience gazed upon the face placed on exhibit before them, but none of them saw the human behind the face. No one, but her. The boy noticed a beautiful woman standing pressed near the bars. She was a small woman with long, dark brown hair, which fell in a mass of ringlets to her waist. She looked into the boy's eyes with an emotion he had never seen before. It was not pity or horror. He simply did not know what it was, but he found it made him feel different. There was sorrow in her eyes, but no pity. There was outrage, but she was not angry with him. Her deep brown eyes gave him hope that there might be a day when he could find a way to be free. And, then he did something that he could not remember ever doing since he awakened in his cage. He smiled. She gave the boy a slight nod and returned his smile.

Then she was gone.

The boy found himself in the dark and discovered it was because he covered his face with his hands. Lowering his hands, he realized he was lying face down on the bottom of his cage. His back burned with the welts raised by Jaevert's latest use of his whip. He pushed himself up and looked around to find he was alone. Seeing the sack he used to cover his face on the floor near the door of his cage, the boy half-crawled, half-dragged himself to retrieve it. Taking it up in his shaking hands, he shook the straw from it and quickly pulled it over his head. He arranged the sack so he could see through the eye holes and exhausted closed his eyes.

He lay on the floor completely spent from the effort of moving to recover his mask. He floated in a state of semi-consciousness only vaguely aware of his surroundings. He felt he would remain in that state permanently until his mind began to sense something. It was a gradual realization that he could hear someone singing. It was not a gypsy song, not rough and raucous. This song was soft and lyrical. It was a woman's voice. Her voice rising and falling with a purity of tone that it made the boy think of angels. To the boy's mind, her lovely voice seemed angelic. He continued to lay on the floor, not caring about anything at all, allowing the perfect bliss and beauty of her voice to wash over and through him. All too soon, the song ended.

He opened his eyes.

The boy gazed up into the woman's eyes. The same deep brown eyes he had seen that night in the tent of the carnival's sideshow. The woman appeared exactly the same as that long ago night, yet the boy found he was no longer a boy. He glanced down at his body and saw the form of a well-dressed man. Surprised at the sudden change, but pleased that he was now of an age with the woman, he lifted a hand to caress her cheek. She took a step back, away from him and shook her head sadly. He then took note of the tears flowing down her cheeks and felt a similar wetness on his own cheeks as well. He raised his anguished eyes to meet hers once more.

"Christine, I love you!"

The words escaped his lips before he could think to stop them. His voice weak and tremulous, he attempted to smile reassuringly at the woman, but knew he had failed miserably. She took a step closer to him and he felt his heart leap.

"_Perhaps, there is still room for hope in my heart."_

No sooner had the words formed inside his mind than she took the action that would forever prove to him that he would never find love in this lifetime. She raised her left hand and slid something from her finger. She placed the thing in the center of his palm, a single tear rolled down her cheek as she rolled his fingers over it, then she turned and hurried away from him. The painful silence lasted for only a few moments before her voice filled the eerie quiet. The voice he had so carefully nurtured and trained for so many years was floating away. He ran out of the room he knew must be his bedroom and into a large cavern. She stood upon the deck of a black gondola, her arms draped around a slender man. She sang of love and spending a lifetime in the daylight with that love, yet she looked not at the man poling the gondola. Her face … her eyes … her voice … she sang only for him. She loved him, but she could not stay with him. She saved him from the gypsies only to kill him with her love. Her eyes never left his until the bend in the canal severed their stare.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

And, it was always at this point in the dream that Erik would awaken with a feeling of such utter hopelessness and loss that he sometimes considered sitting in a bath of beautifully warm water and opening his veins. In the past, he reined in those feelings, but lately the desire to end his miserable existence had been growing more and more attractive. He was uncertain how much longer he would have survived if he had not met his angel last night. He took some small comfort in the fact that when he had least expected it he had been granted the miracle of meeting his angel.

"_She is eternally both my savior and my executioner! What more does a monster require?"_

He released his pillow from his tight embrace and placed it once more under his head. He smoothed his bed sheets and blankets over his lanky body. His eyes sagged with weariness, both physical and mental.

"_I need to try and get some rest for my outing with Christine."_

He closed his eyes and attempted to clear his mind of all thought. And, after what seemed to him to be a very long while, he finally drifted into an untroubled and dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry for making everyone wait another chapter for the story of Erik and Christine's outing, but my muse demanded that I report the details of Erik's dream. Okay, Muse? I reported it ... Now on with the show ...

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**


	13. He who knows Love

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**He who knows Love**_

_**HE who knows Love – becomes Love, **__**  
**__**and his eyes behold Love in the heart of everyone, **__**  
e**__**ven the loveless. **__**  
**__**As the light of the sun is one with all it touches,**__**  
**__**he is wise with undivided wisdom, **__**  
**__**for he lies in Wisdom's arms. **__**  
**__**His wanderings are done,**__**  
**__**for he has found the Source whence all things run – **__**  
**__**the guerdon of the quest that satisfies.**_

_**He who knows Love – becomes Love, **__**  
**__**and he knows all beings are himself, **__**  
**__**twin-born of Love. **__**  
**__**Melted in Love's own fire, his spirit flows **__**  
**__**into all earthly forms, below, above; **__**  
**__**he is the breath and glamour of the rose. **__**  
**__**He is the benediction of the dove.**_

_**By Elsa Barker**_

**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen – ****He who knows Love**

Erik awoke early the next morning feeling oddly refreshed.

"_Well, it seems I was finally able to sleep undisturbed for more than half of an hour! I had forgotten how that felt. It seems like it has been years … could it really be true? Has the dream plagued me for that long?"_

He thought about his silent questions and then shrugged.

"_Does it really matter? I have something much more important to ponder … am I really going to propose marriage to Mademoiselle Daae … Christine, today? Oh, Christine."_

Her name alone caused goosebumps to creep across his flesh and his face to feel flushed. If he thought on her further, the flush swept from his face to the center of his chest and then downwards. He grimaced as he realized just how aroused he already was.

"_I must keep myself under control or I am going to make a fool of myself today."_

He walked to his dresser and opened a large wooden music box. A small, midnight-blue velvet box was the only item inside. Erik withdrew the box and closed the lid of the larger box. Carefully grasping the box in his hands, he pried it open. A flash of yellow gold and a sparkle of blue fire caught his eye. He sadly smiled. Inside the box were his mother's betrothal ring and her wedding band. She had told him to give them to the woman he loved. That had been four years ago.

"_It was as if she knew what was coming …."_

His mother had died less than a month after giving him the rings. She had caught a slight head cold. Erik, through a simple coincidence, had been staying with her for a long overdue visit. He wanted to fetch the doctor, but she would not hear of it. By the time he left a week later, she seemed to be on the mend. He had stopped to visit Raoul and Phillipe at their estate in the country before returning to Paris. He had stayed with them five days. When he arrived home, Elaine had met him at the door and handed him a telegram. The note was brief. Two days after he parted from her, she took a turn for the worse. She had developed pneumonia. By the time he arrived home, it had been thirteen days since they parted. However, his mother had already made her final departure two days earlier. She was gone and he was alone.

"_I was fortunate to have you, mother. I will never know where you found the courage or the love in your heart that night, but I thank you. You gave me a life. If there is a heaven, you deserve to be there for giving me the life you did. I love you and I miss you, mother. I think about you each and every single day. You always told me I would find her. Yet, I never believed you. Well, I must eat humble pie now, as I found her. I finally found her, the woman I am going to marry. I plan on asking her to marry me today. Mother, could you put in a good word for me, please? You know I was never one for praying, but if there ever was a more perfect moment to begin, I cannot begin to think what it could be. This definitely is an excellent time to start! And now …."_

He opened his bedroom door and called loudly.

"Elaine! Elaine! I require your assistance! Elaine!"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Amazingly, Erik found himself perched upon a rather comfortable seat inside a lovely brougham, which sat in front of the Opera Populaire at 11:45 a.m. He now held an internal debate with himself over where it would be proper for him to wait for her. After much hemming and hawing, Erik decided that the front door of Madame Giry's flat would be the proper thing to do and the safest bet. He wished that Raoul had been more forthcoming the night before with advice. He had no idea what he should do, but Raoul had been strangely reticent. He seemed distant and preoccupied, and Erik thought it best to leave him to his thoughts.

"_Now that I think upon it, his behavior was quite odd. I must remember to call upon him this evening and inquire as to his health. And, if everything goes well today, I can announce my engagement. Well, enough procrastinating. It would be bad form to arrive late."_

The man hopped out of the carriage and made his way through the deserted opera house to the Giry's living quarters.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The couple sat somewhat awkwardly next to one another in the brougham. Due to his intended proposal, Erik decided to dress in the more formal morning dress, rather than wear the slightly less formal and more comfortable stroller coat. He wore a black, single-breasted coat, which met in the middle with a single button and curved away to a pair of tails in the back. His black waistcoat matched his coat. He forsook wearing a long tie as he despised them and opted to wear a charcoal grey cravat instead. He wore a white shirt with a winged collar and double-cuffs. His formal striped trousers were black and charcoal grey and held up by a pair of braces. On his hands, he wore a pair of black kid leather gloves and on his feet were a pair of black, Oxford boots with punching across the toe caps. His head was bare as his deformity made wearing the stiffly formed top hat difficult at best. He thought that his appearance was presentable and he hoped Christine thought he looked passable.

On the other hand, Erik thought Christine looked stunning. She wore a simple off-white, day dress of pale blue-striped washing silk. The square-cut bodice and three-quarter length sleeves were hand-smocked. The front-panel draping had a seamed waist, edged with pastel blue. The dress draped into a small bustle and did not have a train. Erik noticed when she stepped up into the carriage that an elegant pair of sky blue, ankle-high boots encased her tiny feet. Her head was bare and she wore her hair pulled up into a loose chignon, but a few tendrils of her curls had escaped and entranced Erik as they bounced atop her shoulders and back when she walked. She carried a frilly, bright blue lace parasol to protect her from the sun. On her face, she wore just a light dusting of powder and blush, nothing more. Erik admired her grace and sense of style. He smiled.

"_She is perfect."_

The coachman's call interrupted his thoughts, informing them of their arrival at the garden. Erik scooped up the basket containing their lunch and alighted from the carriage. He quickly turned and offered his hand to assist Christine from the carriage. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. Erik paid the coachman and then smiled at Christine, offering her his arm. She returned his smile and entwined her arm around his. The awkward silence fell away as the two entered the garden at le Musée du Luxembourg. They strolled past l'Orangerie, slowly making their way to the main octagon pond and the former Luxembourg Palace, which now housed the Senate. They admired the numerous statues, the lushness of the palm trees and the wide variety of flowering plants. They made small talk, commenting on the architecture, art and the fountains. Erik was surprised to discover that while Christine had never received any formal schooling, she was quite conversant in several studies. The opera house had a large library and Christine had made use of her spare time by reading extensively on a wide range of subjects. Her favorites being mathematics and musical composition. When he expressed his surprise, her response astounded him.

"Well, Monsieur, one cannot have music without mathematics and as music consumes my soul, so therefore, must mathematics."

As Christine spoke those words, Erik felt his fate decided. Never had he been so attracted to a woman in both body and mind. He replied.

"Yes, Mademoiselle, but it is a rare mind that is able to grasp what spills so easily from your lips."

Her face became deeply blushed, but Erik noticed that her smile broadened considerably.

With each step they took, it seemed the pair became more and more comfortable with one another. All the while, Erik directed their walk towards la grotte du Luxembourg and la Fountaine Médicis, which was the place he planned for them to eat their picnic lunch and hoped to find the courage to make his proposal.

At last, they arrived at the tree-lined, rectangular basin pond of the fountain. Christine gasped at the beauty of the place.

"I had no idea this place existed and I have lived in Paris for 12 years now."

Erik felt himself grinning.

"Yes, unless you come here often and explore it thoroughly, you would never know it exists. It is Sunday and, yet, as you can see, it is deserted. Come."

He led her to the end of the grotto, next to the central niche of the fountain. He swept his hand towards a small bench and Christine released his arm gracefully to take a seat on it.

Erik placed the basket on the grass near Christine's feet. Opening the lid, he reached inside and pulled out a soft, brown blanket. He shook it and spread it upon the ground then removed a varied assortment of delicacies from the basket. He spread them along one edge of the blanket and then turned to Christine, holding out his hand with a smile.

"Would you care to join me, Mademoiselle?"

"Oui, Monsieur."

They settled themselves on the blanket and Erik served Christine a luncheon of cold mince pie, cheese, bread and strawberries. Erik felt that with each passing moment, this woman won more and more of his heart. He enjoyed her unaffected speech. She did not simper or demur to his comments, but told him her sincere opinion on whatever matter they were discussing. If she were not familiar with a topic, she showed no embarrassment. She would tell him that she did not know and would ask him to explain or would tell him she had no interest in the matter. He found her honesty entirely refreshing, but the trait he most adored was her total disregard of his birth defect. Twice, he had caught her staring at him, but each time she had been looking at his hands, not his face. He found that extremely curious and strangely exciting; especially as both times, she had blushed furiously when he surprised her.

He lifted a bottle of red wine from the basket and asked.

"Would you care for a glass, Mademoiselle?"

"Oh, yes! Please! The cheese is wonderful, but very salty. I am quite thirsty."

He poured them each a glass. Lifting his eyebrow, he inquired.

"May I propose a toast?"

"Of course, Monsieur."

"Please, call me Erik."

"Only if you will call me Christine."

"Very well, Christine."

They stared smiling at one another for a moment, before Erik blinked and cleared his throat. He lifted his glass and gazing deeply into Christine's eyes, he spoke in a husky voice.

"Then, Christine, let us drink to love. Love, may it be forever joyous and blissful. Love, may it never be cruel or tragic as it was for Acis and Galatea. Love, may it always be returned tenfold. Love, may it never be unrequited as it was for Polyphemus."

They touched their cups together with a clink. They sipped their wine quietly then Christine lowered her glass.

"Well, Erik. Obviously, I will drink to love, but who are Acis, Galatea and Polyphemus?"

He smirked slightly at her curiosity, pleased that his toast evoked the intended reaction from Christine.

"See the two white marble statues there in the center of the fountain?"

She nodded.

"Those two are Acis and Galatea. The bronze statue above them is the Cyclops Polyphemus. Would you like to hear their story?"

"Oh, yes! I love stories! My Papa used to tell me stories of Sweden when I was a little girl and I have missed that so very much!"

Erik grinned.

"Ah, yes. Tales of the dark North, little Lotté and the Angel of Music."

"How did you know?" She began and then her eyes widened. "Oh! That Raoul! I shall have to give him such a tongue lashing the next time I see him. I cannot believe he told people about our secret story times with my father!"

"Oh, Christine. Do not be too hard on Raoul. He always spoke of those times with the greatest affection. He never belittled you, although he sometimes became rather tiresome with how often he would tell the same story."

The two shared a comfortable laugh, the man's rich tenor and the woman's light soprano voices blended as music, which ended abruptly as they both noticed how strangely beautiful their joined laughter sounded. In order to bridge the sudden silence, Erik spoke.

"So, would you like me to tell you their tale?"

He nodded towards the three statues in the fountain.

Christine's smile returned and she nodded happily.

"Oh, yes! Please do, Erik."

"Very well. Well, let me think. In his book, _Metamorphoses_, the Greek writer, Ovid, tells the tale of the Cyclops Polyphemus, the Nereid Galatea and Acis, a beautiful Sicilian shepherd. Galatea, a sea-nymph whose name means "she who is milk-white" loved Acis, the son of Faunus and the nymph Symaethis, but Acis had a rival for the affections of Galatea. The Cyclops, Polyphemus, the one-eyed son of Poseidon, god of the sea, and Thoösa, a nymph, loved Galatea. Unfortunately, for Polyphemus, Galatea did not return his affections. Galatea and Acis fell deeply in love, but due to the envious Polyphemus, they kept their love a secret. One day, the jealous Polyphemus followed Galatea to a secluded grotto where she and Acis had arranged to meet. He had caught them in a lover's tryst. Furious, Polyphemus climbed the cliff behind the grotto in order to spy upon the two. After listening to their words of love and witnessing their passionate embraces, he became enraged, lifted a boulder, cast it down upon Acis, crushing him beneath it and killing him. Wildly distraught and inconsolable over his death, Galatea metamorphosed the blood of Acis into a river bearing his name. The Acis or Acinius River flows past the town of Akion near Mount Etna in Sicily."

Christine's face had grown sad as Erik told her the tale. At its conclusion, she leaned her head against Erik's shoulder and sighed.

"I will never understand why writers feel the need to end stories with a sad or tragic ending. If Galatea had told Polyphemus she could not love him, perhaps, the story would have ended better. I do not understand women who do not know their own minds, but …."

Still leaning against his shoulder, she lifted her head to look into his eyes.

"Now I know the story that this fountain tells. Thank you, Erik."

Erik found he could scarcely breathe as he looked down into her eyes and savored the feel of her pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms about her waist, her eyes closed, her chin lifted slightly and he felt an irresistible pull downwards. He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her. Her lips tasted of the wine and she smelled of honeysuckle and jasmine. The combination felt intoxicating and he drew her closer to him. He felt her lips part slightly under his and a small groan escaped his mouth. He slowly broke their kiss and pulled back, but did not release her from his arms.

They sat locked in their silent and blissful embrace, gazing into each other's eyes. Erik took Christine's mouth in another heated kiss, which quickly deepened. Their mutual moans of passion brought Erik back to his senses. He gradually and gently released Christine from the caress of his lips on hers. He looked deeply into her eyes and realized that she looked at him in the same manner. He brushed a curl from her face, but still did not release her.

"Christine?"

"Yes, Erik."

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

**

* * *

Author's Note****: Okay, you can all let me know what you think. Should Christine say: yes, no, maybe or I don't know? Please read, review and let me know! --ny

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**


	14. In Delay There Lies No Plenty

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**Sweet-and-Twenty**_

_**O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?  
O, stay and hear! Your true love's coming,  
that can sing both high and low:  
trip no further, pretty sweeting;  
journeys end in lovers meeting,  
every wise man's son doth know.**_

_**What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;  
present mirth hath present laughter;  
what's to come is still unsure:  
in delay, there lies no plenty;  
then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty!  
Youth's a stuff will not endure.**_

_**William Shakespeare (1564–1616)**_

**

* * *

Chapter Fourteen – In Delay There Lies No Plenty**

"Christine?"

"Yes, Erik."

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Reluctantly, he disentangled one of his arms from her and he nonchalantly slipped his hand into the picnic basket. His eyes never broke away from hers as his hand felt for and then found the object he desired. Withdrawing the treasure from the basket, his full attention returned once more to the silent woman he held against his chest.

Her lovely eyes stared into his, but it seemed as if her mind were far away. Her slightly panting mouth transfixed him. Her lips, now a deep, dusty rose from their kisses, were full, swollen and slightly parted. Her normally pale complexion bore a delightful flush of pink beneath the face powder she wore and more of her curly locks had escaped to hang free. Erik desired nothing more than to spend the afternoon kissing her lips, but having given voice to his proposal, he knew he must wait for her response.

"_She is so beautiful."_ He thought.

Still, the silence stretched on and Erik began to feel concerned.

"_Too soon! I asked her too soon! Damn!"_

He opened his mouth to apologize for his forwardness, when suddenly, she gasped. She slowly closed her eyes and then opened them, gazing at him with an intensity that inwardly caused him to flinch.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Meg! May I borrow your blue parasol?"

Christine stuck her head into Meg's bedroom. In her excitement over her imminent outing with Erik, she almost did not notice her friend's distressed state. The broad smile on Christine's face slipped into a frown and she moved to her best friend's side.

"What ever is the matter?"

Her friend looked up from the place on the floor at which she had been staring and brought her glistening blue eyes up to meet Christine's sober brown ones.

"Oh! Everything is the matter. Last night … Maman found Raoul and I … well, she saw …. Oh, Christine! He makes me feel so giddy. We began to kiss and well, our kisses became rather ardent. I knew I should tell him to stop, but I did not want to stop. When he touched me, it burned but it was a wondrous fire that he lit within me … then, Maman came into the room. She sent me to my room and she spoke with Raoul. She did not come in last night and speak with me. Oh, I am so certain that she will never allow me to see Raoul again! I feel as if I am dying. It hurts so much! What am I to do?"

With those words, the dam burst and Meg began to cry. Too stunned to speak, Christine hesitantly placed her arms around the hysterical girl. She sat, her arms stiff as she held the seemingly inconsolable girl and clumsily patted her back.

"_What do I do now? I have never given someone comfort … but …."_

Christine searched her memory and at last, remembered how, when she was very small, her father held her when a thunder storm frightened her. He held her in his arms while he hummed a Swedish lullaby and rocked her. A wistful smile played across her features and her arms relaxed. She began to rock Meg gently. Christine stroked the girl's fine, blonde hair as she hummed softly. When, at last, the girl's tears began to subside, Christine released her.

"Meg, do you love him?"

"Yes."

The simplicity of her answer said more than any sonnet ever written in honor of love could say. Christine nodded.

"Does he love you?"

"Yes."

"Well, then you have to have faith in that and hope that Maman will come to see too. I am sorry, Meg. I do not know how to help you."

Frustrated at her ignorance, Christine frowned.

"Oh, Christine! You already have. You listened and you have given me hope."

"I pray it is not a false hope."

Meg smiled.

"How could it be false, when the love Raoul and I share is true?"

Christine gave Meg an impish smile. She leaned her forehead against Meg's and whispered.

"So, can I borrow your blue parasol?"

Surprised, Meg drew back and studied Christine's face.

"Are you going outside?"

Christine nodded vigorously.

"Erik and I are going to le Jardin du Luxembourg for a picnic."

Meg squealed with delight then eyed Christine skeptically.

"And you are going to wear that?"

Christine looked at the plain, black skirt and ruffled, blue blouse she wore.

"Yes. What is wrong with this?"

Meg rolled her eyes. She grabbed Christine's arm and pulled her to her wardrobe.

"Come, Christine. You helped me. Now, it is my turn to help you."

One nerve wracking hour later and Meg nodded her approval of Christine.

"Can I see what you have done to me now?" Christine pouted.

Meg placed her hands on Christine's upper arms and turned her around to face her reflection.

"Well? You look perfect! Now, you may borrow my parasol."

Christine gazed at the person whom she knew must be her and shook her head. She watched the image in the mirror shake their head and she started as if from a deep trance.

"Perfect? What is perfection in this life?"

She spoke half to herself and not expecting a response, rushed to cover her raw emotions.

"Meg, thank you! I barely know myself."

She went to give Meg a hug, but the girl warned her off with raised hands.

"I do not wish to muss you. You are most welcome, Christine."

Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

"Meg, all will be well. Have faith. I did and although it took 12 years, I met my angel. You have already met your angel. Now, all you must do is overcome the wrath of Maman. A difficult task, but not impossible. She loves you, Meg. She only wishes the best for you and wants to be certain that no man breaks your heart. Let her know that Raoul would never do that and once she trusts that his heart is true, all will be well."

The girls shared a bittersweet smile. The moment ended as a rap sounded from down the hall in the parlor. Meg grinned.

"Oh! That must be Monsieur Destler! I simply must see the look on his face when he sees you! Please? Come, Christine!"

Christine blushed furiously and turned to the mirror to give her reflection one last nervous look.

Meg sighed impatiently, placed her hands on her hips and scolded.

"Do not worry, Christine. You look wonderful. If he has not fallen in love with you already, he most certainly will as soon as he sees how you look now."

"But, Meg. I …."

"_I want him to love me, not how I look." _She thought anxiously.

"Not another word! Come! It just will not do to keep your gentleman waiting. Oh! I cannot wait to catch sight of his face as he sees just how lovely you look. Come, Christine! Your knight in shining armor awaits his lady fair!"

"_No, Meg. My angel awaits me."_

Christine smiled serenely, walked out of her bedroom and down the hall to meet with the angel that fate saw fit to present her.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Antoinette Giry hurried to answer the door. After everything that happened the night before, she almost regretted her impulsiveness in allowing this outing and granting the young man permission to ask for Christine's hand in marriage. All doubts about her decision vanished as she took in the sight of the nervous young man standing at her door. She stepped back and invited him to enter.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Destler. How are you today?"

"Bonjour, Madame Giry. I am quite well and you?"

"I am well enough, merci."

The man stepped close to her and spoke in a low voice.

"Madame, may I show you something?"

Somewhat perplexed, but reassured by the serious look on his face, she nodded. He pulled something from his pocket and held it up. Antoinette gasped.

"It is lovely, Monsieur. She will love it." She paused and her eyes darted towards the hall leading to Christine's bedroom. "I believe I hear her door. It would be best if you put that away, lest you ruin your surprise, Monsieur."

He grinned and replaced the ring into the box then slipped it back into his pocket. Antoinette marveled at how his grin transformed his appearance. When he grinned, he looked as if he were no older than 16. Meg and Christine's entrance into the room interrupted her thoughts. Again, she gazed in wonder as his stunned expression changed him from excited boy to love-struck young man. She shook her head.

_"Truly, they are each other's perfect solution."_

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Meg rushed into the parlor, only to find that her mother had already answered the door. All of her excited happiness instantly fell from her as her mother turned to look at her. Meg turned to watch Erik and could not help the grin that threatened to crack her face apart when she saw the look of awed admiration on his face upon his first glimpse of Christine.

"_Oh, he is quite taken with her. Most assuredly, he is utterly smitten. I am so happy for Christine! She has lived through such sorrow. She deserves to find love, to love and be loved in return. I hope he is the one for her! Oh, I pray they fall in love and live happily ever after."_

Remembering her mother's displeasure over the scene of the night before, she caught herself before she giggled. Ducking her head to avoid her mother's stern eyes, she murmured.

"It is a pleasure to see you once again, Monsieur Destler."

He gave her an almost imperceptible bow and replied.

"Likewise, Mademoiselle Giry."

His eyes returned to the dark-haired beauty and he walked gracefully towards her. He halted directly in front of Christine and cleared his throat nervously before he spoke.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Daae. You look lovely. A true vision of beauty."

Christine's face quickly flushed scarlet, but she retained enough presence of mind to curtsey.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Destler. Merci. May I say that you cut quite a handsome figure as well?"

Madame Giry cleared her throat to gain their attention.

"Monsieur, when may I expect Christine to return home?"

"We shall return no later than sunset, if that is acceptable to you?"

"It is, Monsieur. Now, you two, be off with you and have a wonderful time."

Erik nodded his head to the woman and Christine smiled widely at the woman she considered her second mother.

"Thank you, Maman. We shall. Au revoir!"

Erik offered his arm to Christine and after giving Madame a small wave of her hand, she placed her hand on Erik's arm. He placed his hand atop hers and squeezed her hand affectionately.

"Shall we?"

"Oh, indeed, Monsieur. Let us be off on our outing!"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"_Did he just ask me to marry him?"_

She looked at the face of the man who held her so close. His deep green eyes were dark with the remains of their passionate kisses, but she could read a growing apprehension in them. She watched him and noticed his lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly.

"_He did! Oh my God! He did! He asked me to marry him!"_

Her mind reeled with shock and joy. She gasped and felt herself blink slowly.

"_Christine, you silly goose! Say something! He's waiting for you to say something!"_

A bright smile spread across Christine's mouth and her eyes shone radiantly.

"Erik, yes. Oh! Yes!"

**

* * *

Author's Note****: Well, I must say that I am very impressed with the response I received from my inquiry as to how Christine should respond to Erik's proposal. I hope that my resolution pleases everyone. I send my sincere thanks to everyone that responded! You are the best! Please continue to read and review! --ny**

* * *


	15. You Love Me Now!

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**At Last**_

_**At last, when all the summer shine  
that warmed life's early hours is past,  
your loving fingers seek for mine  
and hold them close – at last – at last!  
Not oft the robin comes to build  
its nest upon the leafless bough  
by autumn robbed, by winter chilled, –  
but you, dear heart, you love me now.**_

_**Though there are shadows on my brow  
And furrows on my cheek, in truth, –  
the marks where Time's remorseless plough  
broke up the blooming sward of Youth, –  
though fled is every girlish grace  
might win or hold a lover's vow,  
despite my sad and faded face,  
and darkened heart, you love me now!**_

_**I count no more my wasted tears;  
they left no echo of their fall;  
I mourn no more my lonesome years;  
this blessed hour atones for all.  
I fear not all that Time or Fate  
may bring to burden heart or brow, –  
strong in the love that came so late,  
our souls shall keep it always now!**_

_**Elizabeth Akers Allen**_

**

* * *

Chapter Fifteen – You Love Me Now! **

A bright smile spread across Christine's mouth and her eyes shone radiantly.

"Erik, yes. Oh! Yes!"

For a moment, the man sat unmoving, his mind unable to register the import of her words.

"Erik …."

Christine began hesitantly when he startled her with his joyous cry and held her even tighter than before. After a moment, he loosened his arms and set her back from him. He held up the small velvet box, opened it and withdrew one of the treasures it contained. The diamonds and yellow gold caught the sunlight and glistened so brilliantly that it almost, but not quite, rivaled the couples' blissful expressions. He solemnly slid the ring upon the third finger of Christine's left hand and then placed an exquisitely soft kiss upon her finger just below the ring.

"This was my mother's betrothal ring. She gave it to me before she passed and told me that I should give it to the woman I intend to make my wife. I hope you like it, Christine."

He spoke in a reverent tone and Christine looked at the ring on her hand in awe.

"It is the most beautiful ring I have ever seen, Erik. Truly, I adore it and I adore you! To think, only yesterday I felt so lost and alone. Now …. Well, from the moment I first saw you, I knew."

She paused, a serious expression clouding her happy face.

"Erik, do you feel the same? I know my question is hardly appropriate considering you just asked for my hand, but I have never been one to play coy games. Indeed, I am completely inexperienced in matters of the heart. You are the only man I have ever kissed. Nay, you are the only man I have ever wished to kiss."

She halted and turned away from him as she blushed a furious crimson.

He threw his head back and released a stream of musical laughter that sent a pleasant thrill down Christine's spine. He turned her face to his.

"Oh, Christine! You are truly a wonder! In all of my 30 years on this earth, never did I believe I would find love, much less find a lady as lovely as you, who would consent to be my wife. I shall tell you something that may assuage your fears; yours were the first lips I have ever kissed with passion. I have never kissed anyone before last night, well, I kissed my mother's cheek but as I am certain you kissed your parents, I believe we mean the same thing. Do we not?"

Overcome with the intensity of her emotions and unable to speak, Christine simply nodded her head. As Erik once again wrapped his arms around the woman who was now his fiancée, he felt overcome by his desire. His eyes darkened and he lowered his mouth to take Christine's in a passionate kiss. Lost in the heat of the moment, Erik raised his hand to caress Christine's cheek and was shocked as she suddenly broke their kiss and knocked his hand away from her face as if his touch burned. He gaped in silent shock for a moment and she turned away from him her cheeks aflame.

"Christine? What did I do? What is wrong?"

She placed her hand to her forehead and massaged it as if she were in pain.

"You did nothing. I apologize, Erik. You caught me unaware. I am unused to having my face touched affectionately. I have an aversion to being touched there. Too many years of taunting slaps from the ballet rats and chorus girls. Too many years of being alone."

Erik reached out his hand and tentatively placed it on Christine's shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze to capture her attention. When she finally met his eyes, he saw a deep and abiding sadness in them. He sighed, amazed at how quickly their bliss had transformed into this tormented state of affairs.

"_My God! What kind of life has she known?"_

"Do you want to tell me about it? If you are not ready to speak of it, I understand. Just know that I am a willing ear when you are ready and a broad shoulder should you need one."

She found the sincerity she read in his eyes disturbing and she looked away from him once more. She lowered her eyes to the ring she wore on her hand and began to fiddle with it.

"_What am I doing? I do not know this man, yet I have consented to be his wife. Worse yet, the poor man does not know what type of horror he has asked to be his bride! He is such a fine gentleman. He could have his pick of any woman, why on earth did he choose me? It does not make any sense. How can I love him? I only met him yesterday. Did I really see his face in the stained glass window of the chapel? Why am I beginning to doubt him now? Is it because he touched my face? How can he not see what everyone else sees when they look at me? He is the only one besides Madame, Meg and Raoul that sees me as something other than a freak. And, he loves me. That look in his eyes is not just lust. I have seen that many times in the eyes of the stage hands, but he has the same look in his eyes when he looks at me as Raoul and Meg have when they look at one another. Do I have that look in my eyes when I look upon him? Do I love him? Do I even know what love is? Of course, I do! My father loved me. Why am I suddenly so full of doubt? Must I destroy every good thing that life puts in my path? Why can I not simply accept this man's love and leave the past where it belongs … in the past. I need to try. Perhaps, in telling him, I can purge this torturous self-loathing from my psyche."_

Feeling his eyes upon her, Christine looked up. She felt her doubts fall away, at least for the moment, as the love in his emerald green eyes swallowed her whole.

"_I should at least warn him and allow him the chance to reconsider. I need to let him know that part of me feels broken and I do not understand why. He needs to hear the real story of the opera ghost."_

She cleared her throat and he stilled, his eyes reading something disturbing in the depths of hers.

"Erik, you are the first person since my father died to make me feel something … something good, something beautiful. I … well … you …. Let me attempt this once again. However, I need to tell you of the things people say about me. It is only fair for me to allow you to be aware of the gossip that follows me. You are a successful man. Taking me as a wife may not be the most auspicious business decision you make. I simply need to allow you a chance to change your mind. I will tell you my tale and thank you, by the way, for offering to lend me your ear. You are so wonderful. I can only hope you still want me when you have learned all there is to know of the opera ghost."

She chuckled bitterly.

"Yes, Erik. I am the opera ghost …."

He surprised her greatly with his interruption.

"Hush now, Christine! Raoul told me of the opera ghost before you and I met. I do not need you to tell me if it distresses you to speak of it. Just know that I am here to listen if you want to talk. And, please no more talk of me reconsidering my proposal. There is nothing you can say that would make me change my mind. My dear, you are so amazing! You look at me and make me feel as if I was handsome and I know that I am not. You make me feel how I imagine other men must feel. You make me feel like I am an ordinary man."

It was her turn to cut off his words.

"I would never call you ordinary, Erik. After spending this time with you today and listening to all of the fascinating things you know, I believe you are quite extraordinary, as well as strikingly handsome. But, we digress. I do wish to speak with you. I need to tell you how I became the opera ghost."

"If that is what you feel you need to do, Christine, then, please tell me."

"Thank you. I do need to tell someone and I cannot think of anyone else I would be able to tell these things. I feel you are the only person that will understand."

She slowly and cautiously raised her hand to the marred flesh of Erik's face and when he did not pull away from her, she gently caressed his cheek. He moaned softly and leaned into the touch of her hand upon his flesh, his eyelids slipping closed. Christine listened to the sound of Erik's breathing deepening. It then became progressively more and more ragged, the more she ran her fingers across the ruined features of his face. She leaned into the man and placed her lips against his. She could tell she had startled him, but he did not pull away. He simply savored every moment fate allowed him to spend kissing this woman. She turned about and leaned back against his chest, wrapping his powerful arms about her.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Once upon a time, not so long ago, there lived a silly, little girl. This silly girl lived with her father. He loved her very much and she, of course, loved him very much in return. They traveled from town to town, he, playing his violin and she, accompanying him with her voice, they entertained people wherever they could, earning just enough to keep a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs and food in their stomachs. They did not need more than that for they had one another and they were happy. Sadly, as with most things in life, their happiness did not last. It did not vanish overnight, but simply and insidiously slipped away from them one day at a time. You see, the little girl's father had become consumptive. And, it is not without reason that people name consumption the wasting sickness. The silly child watched as the strong, laughing man she knew was her father became a frail, coughing stranger. All too soon, their traveling ceased. The man simply could no longer walk along the country roads. Fate did allow the pair one last lovely summer in a cottage by the sea before allowing the man's doom to come upon him. Early one morning, as the winter snows finally had begun to thaw, the little girl entered her father's room carrying his breakfast to him on a tray. She had gone outside and found crocus peeking out through the snow and had plucked one. It lay on the tray next to the bowl of broth and the cup of tea she had made for him to eat. She will always remember that flower. It was purple and so perfect, so lovely, so delicate. She entered her father's room and placed the tray on the chair next to his bed. Then went to the window and drew back the curtains to allow the weak winter sunlight into the room, so her father would be able to see his breakfast and she would not have to light one of their preciously few candles. The light from the window shone on his pallid face, but his eyes did not open as they usually did. He did not gaze upon her and smile. Slowly, she crept to his side and reached out her hand to touch his shoulder. She called to him, but he did not stir. Then, the silly, little girl climbed up onto the bed and placed her hand upon her father's cheek. It was cold. He was gone from her. Death had come like a thief in the night.**¹** The silly, little girl died on that cold, late winter morn. She lay on the bed and wrapped her arms around the icy, stiff husk that once was her father and she sang to him and for him, one last time."

Erik sat enthralled by the woman's words. In his mind, he could see her as a girl living through the horror of discovering the only person in her life, dead. A single tear trickled down his cheek as he mourned for that long ago lost child. He felt her grief, her anguish, when she suddenly, but gently, removed his arms from her. Slowly, she stood with her back to him, straightened her shoulders, lifted her head and sang to the heavens.

"_**Hear my prayer, O God, incline Thine ear! **__**  
**__**Thyself from my petition do not hide! **__**  
**__**Take heed to me! Hear how in prayer I mourn to Thee! **__**  
**__**Without Thee, all is dark, I have no guide.**_

_**The enemy shouteth.**__** The godless come fast! **__**  
**__**Iniquity, hatred upon me they cast! **__**  
**__**The wicked oppress me, Ah, where shall I fly? **__**  
**__**Perplexed and bewildered, O God, hear my cry!**_

_**My heart is sorely pained within my breast, **__**  
**__**my soul with deathly terror is oppressed, **__**  
**__**trembling and fearfulness upon me fall, **__**  
**__**with horror overwhelmed, Lord, hear me call!**_

_**O for the wings of a dove! **__**  
**__**Far away would I rove! **__**  
**__**In the wilderness build me a nest, **__**  
**__**and remain there for ever at rest."²**_

He simply sat there dumbfounded. Raoul had told him that she had the voice of an angel, but he never truly understood or believed, not until this moment.

"_My God! Her voice! Why was she waiting for the Angel of Music? __**She**__ is the Angel of Music!"_

* * *

**¹**_"_And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night." _"The Masque of the Red Death"_ by Edgar Allen Poe, 1842 

**²**_"Hear My Prayer (O For the Wings of a Dove)"_ by Felix Mendelssohn, 1844

* * *

**Author's Note****: I apologize for the delay in this chapter. Trystin's report on "Cheetahs" and the diorama we needed to construct was a priority over "The Perfect Solution." I thank each and every one of you that reviewed Chapter 14, and would like to welcome my newest reviewers: "phantomangelex," "mika," "JackieLu," "Ravenseye131," "Jenni," "Cadoiscool," and a HUGE HUG to my 100****th**** Reviewer: "PhantomFan13!" Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! --ny

* * *

**


	16. Never to Part Again

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**Good-By**_

_**Good-By in fear, good-by in sorrow,  
good-by, and all in vain,  
never to meet again, my dear –  
never to part again.  
Good-by to-day, good-by to-morrow,  
good-by till earth shall wane,  
never to meet again, my dear –  
never to part again.**_

_**Christina Georgina Rossetti**_

**

* * *

Chapter Sixteen – Never to Part Again**

He simply sat there dumbfounded. Raoul had told him that she had the voice of an angel, but he never truly understood or believed, not until this moment.

"_My God! Her voice! Why was she waiting for the Angel of Music? __**She**__ is the Angel of Music!"_

Christine acted almost as if she were in a trance. Upon completing her lament for her father, she quietly returned to the circle of Erik's embrace. He trembled slightly as she pushed her body tightly against his and Erik had to lean forward a bit so she would not press into the part of him that would show her just how much he desired her. He longed to take her, there and then. His body, while virginal, knew something and as the heart wants what the heart wants**¹** so too, did his body it seemed. He sighed and felt both their bodies tremble at the same time.

"_Are we that much in tune to one another? How astonishing!"_ He mused.

He waited silently not wishing to push her into speaking before she was ready. The silence was deep, but not awkward and he relished how comfortable they were with one another. He especially appreciated the feeling of her in his arms. He would thank God every day for the remainder of his life for allowing him these moments. He leaned forward enough to rest his right cheek onto her shoulder and placed a light kiss on the side of her throat.

"Raoul said you used to sing when he knew you as a child. He brags how your voice competes with those of the angels and I would roll my eyes, thinking how he must exaggerate your talent. I am humbled, my love. Truly humbled. My only wish is that I may someday hear you raise your voice in joy, not sorrow."

She tilted her face towards his and stared at him with confused eyes.

"Sing? Oh, I could not possibly sing, Erik. I have not sung a single note since my Papa died. Just the thought of singing fills me with pain."

"_She has no idea that she just sang. I will not force the truth upon her. Her psyche is more fragile than I ever would have guessed. She seems so resilient, so strong."_

"Christine, was there no one else living in the house with you and your father?"

"No, it was just the two of us. We could not afford servants. Those last months, we could barely afford the rent, food or medicine, much less the expense of servants. We needed very little and taking care of Papa helped me forget just how dire our situation truly was. Once Papa realized he was dying, he sent a letter to Madame Giry asking her to come as quickly as possible. She arrived two days later …."

"Wait! Are you saying that you were alone with your father for two days before someone found the two of you?"

She nodded silently, not able to meet his eyes.

"Oh my God! How old were you?" His voice choked with emotion, a harsh murmur.

"I was eight years old." Her voice, a ghostly whisper.

She cleared her throat.

"I do not remember anything after lying down next to my Papa on the bed and singing to him, except for wishing that I could die. I wanted so to be with him. I felt so lost, so alone and so very cold. When next my mind became clear, I was standing at Madame's side holding her hand. She nodded her head to me and I remember throwing the crocus I picked for him into the darkness. The bruised and withered flower became my final offering to my father's grave. My next memory is someone jostling me at a train station. He was very large and most likely never saw me. I could barely see his face; his belly blocked his features from my view as I sat on the train platform looking up at him. And then, I remember Madame showing me my room for the first time. I may have been ill when I first arrived at the opera house, as Madame made me stay in bed for a long time. When she finally allowed me to leave my bed, she tried to coax me into trying out for the chorus or the ballet. I steadfastly refused. I sang only for my Papa and with him gone, I had no reason to sing again. Since I did not belong to either the chorus or the ballet corps, I did not fit in or receive the protection of either group of girls. Only Meg and Madame provided me with their somewhat limited protection. There is only one other person in the entire opera house that has been kind to me. He is the Master of the Flies, Joseph Buquet. He taught me how to navigate the catwalks and how to find my way through the maze of passageways backstage. Joseph often invites me to his home to share supper with his wife and him. His wife gives me her hand-me-down clothes, although they are too large for me. I am a passable seamstress and alter the clothes to fit me. In a way, it is due to the things Joseph taught me that I earned my reputation as the opera ghost. I am quite adept at moving through the opera house. Oh! Do not look at me so. I do not wear clothing such as this. I wear breeches. Yes, now you may look shocked. I wear breeches. You can hardly expect me to wear a corset and petticoats up in the flies. That would be indecent, not to mention impractical and dangerous! Anyway, I truly enjoyed sitting up in the rafters and watching the ballet rats practice. Sometimes, I liked to play practical jokes on them. I wrote notes, which criticized their performances and dropped them on the stage. At first, Madame became quite cross with me. However, as time went on she realized that my appraisals of the girls' dancing were accurate. Sometimes she would ask me to include her criticisms in my notes. But, that was before they discovered my secret. The ballet rats were terrified when they truly believed in a spectral phantom or opera ghost. Of course, nothing lasts forever and Meg gave me away. She did not mean to do it. Meg simply cannot keep a secret. After they learned the identity of the opera ghost, my life became almost unbearable. My loneliness drove me further from the hustle and bustle of everyday life and deeper into my world of solitude. I would often visit the chapel and pray that my father would send the Angel of Music to me as he had promised all those years ago."

"One day, I found, quite by accident, a secret door in the chapel. The stained glass window is, in truth, a door. It is one of many hidden entrances to a world behind the backstage of the opera house. It allows me to come and go as I please. I use the passages to avoid people and help me complete my errands for Madame and Monsieur Reyer unseen and unmolested. I have learned the stage level as well as the first and second levels of the cellars, but have never seen a reason to delve deeper beneath the opera house. Although, Joseph has told me of a lake, which he says lies beneath the fifth level of cellars. I do not know if it truly exists, but Joseph says it does and I have no reason to disbelieve him. He would never lie to me."

Erik caught a glimpse of her profile as she smiled down at her hands sadly.

"Now, you know the truth of the opera ghost. There is no great mystery. There is no magic, no haunting, no curse … just me. This is the face, which wears the mask of the opera ghost, invisible though it may be."

The man knew he should say something, but had no idea what. He did not want her to think that he pitied her because he did not. He did however, feel a strange empathy towards her.

"_I think I know how she feels better than most. After all, I have been reviled by strangers and been cast in the role of outsider all of my life. It is so very strange that this lovely woman found treatment by the people around her in much the same way as me. Even if, it was for entirely different reasons. It seems as if the two of us were made for one another."_

He allowed his hand to stroke her cheek.

"Christine, when I was born, my mother could not bear the sight of my face. She locked me away in the attic and made me wear a mask to hide the twisted flesh of my face. My father died before I was born. She never told me how he died. It was too painful for her to speak of it. However, for the first nine years of my life, I covered my face to please her. She never touched me. She could barely bring herself to look at me or speak to me. She thought that I was God's punishment for some wrongdoing she committed. She hid me away from the world. My only companion, a dog. I loved that dog and when she died, I decided that I could no longer live in my mother's house. The town doctor had been courting my mother and I thought they would send me away so they could marry. I felt unwanted and unloved. I decided I would run away. However, the strangest thing happened. The night I determined to leave, my mother came into my room and woke me. She actually touched me. She brought me downstairs and told me things would be different. Then, she bade me fetch all of my masks. She tossed my masks into the fire and then allowed me to do the same. I have not worn a mask since. I do not know what caused her change of heart, but I took it as a sign that God exists. And, whenever I encounter people that torment me because of my face, I hold to the thought of my mother's transformation. It allows me to retain hope that people can change for the better. Not all people are evil or cruel, Christine. Will you allow me to show you a different side of life than the one in which you have lived? I would be so honored if you would."

She twisted her torso to allow herself to look into his eyes. He saw a faint glimpse of hope deep within her eyes.

"Erik, you still want to marry me?"

His smile, full of love and adoration, answered her, but still he spoke.

"Oh, Christine. Indeed, I do. I wish to marry you and spend the rest of my days holding you close to me and loving you. I want to show you the world. I want to banish the pain in your heart. I want to bring music back into your life and hope into your heart. It would be the greatest joy in my life, if you would be the mother of my children. We would be the proudest parents. And, I would be the happiest man God ever created spending my life with you, growing old with you and loving you with every breath in my body. This is what I want, but I need to be certain that it is what you want as well."

He continued to gaze upon her upturned face, a look of growing apprehension in his eyes, but he remained silent waiting for her reply. Her eyes searched his face and she looked long and deep into his eyes, seeking the truth or lie in his words. As the truth of his words sounded in her soul, she sighed.

"Monsieur, the honor would be mine. Let us spend one love, one lifetime healing the hurts of our lifetimes together. If I falter in my faith, I must have your promise that you will catch me and set me back on the path. Can you give me your word, Erik?"

"Mademoiselle, I pledge my troth to you and vow I shall be at your side should your resolve ever waver. For is it not my duty as a husband to do so? May I seal this pledge with a kiss?"

"You may." She smirked.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, Erik lifted his hand to her face and brushed away an errant lock of curls. She surprised him by not drawing away, but leaning into his touch. Drawing her close to his breast, he lowered his lips to hers and bestowed upon her a kiss full of promise for all of their tomorrows.

**

* * *

¹** "The heart wants what the heart wants." Woody Allen, 1992.

* * *


	17. To Make Dreams Truth

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**The Dream**_

_**Dear love, for nothing less than thee  
would I have broke this happy dream;  
it was a theme.  
For reason, much too strong for fantasy.  
Therefore thou waked'st me wisely; yet  
my dream thou broke'st not, but continued'st it.  
Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice  
To make dreams truths and fables histories;  
Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best  
Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.**_

_**As lightning, or a taper's light,  
Thine eyes, and not thy noise, waked me;  
Yet I thought thee—  
For thou love'st truth—an angel, at first sight;  
But when I saw thou saw'st my heart,  
And knew'st my thoughts beyond an angel's art,  
When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when  
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,  
I must confess it could not choose but be  
Profane to think thee anything but thee.**_

_**Coming and staying show'd thee thee,  
But rising makes me doubt that now  
Thou art not thou.  
That Love is weak where Fear's as strong as he;  
'Tis not all spirit pure and brave  
if mixture it of Fear, Shame, Honour have.  
Perchance as torches, which must ready be,  
Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me.  
Thou cam'st to kindle, go'st to come: then I  
will dream that hope again, but else would die.**_

_**John Donne 1573–1631**_

**

* * *

Chapter Seventeen – To Make Dreams Truth **

Slowly, so as not to startle her, Erik lifted his hand to her face and brushed away an errant lock of curls. She surprised him by not drawing away, but leaning into his touch. Drawing her close to his breast, he lowered his lips to hers and bestowed upon her a kiss full of promise for all of their tomorrows.

It seemed to the couple that the afternoon had started only moments ago, but as the lowering sun began to shine into their eyes, no longer shielded from them by the trees overhead, they knew it was time to pack up their basket and leave their private retreat of the afternoon. As Christine moved about, the sparkle of the diamonds on her finger caused her eyes to return continually to the ring she now wore upon her finger. Each time her eyes glanced upon her ring, she smiled and sighed. Caught between elation and guilt.

"_How is it that I should come to know such happiness? Surely, I must be dreaming."_

As if to dispute her silent doubt, Erik placed his arm around her waist and drew her into a warm embrace.

"I shall never tire of holding you thusly, my dear. Never did I imagine I would find love and be loved in return.**¹** You make me feel like spouting poetry and sonnets. I feel capricious and lighthearted. These are feelings I never expected to use in describing myself. With you by my side, I can ignore the scornful eyes of the rest of the world."

He drew back then lifted her up and spun her about him, laughing. She found his joy contagious and soon found she could not help but laugh along with him. After a moment, he lowered her to the ground and rested his forehead upon hers.

"How is it, my love, that you look upon me and see a man when the rest of the world only sees a monster?"

Surprised by the sudden seriousness of his words, she looked up into his face. He saw only confusion in her eyes and he sighed wistfully.

"Even now, my dearest, you do not understand, but you will. I wish it were not so, but you will. When we encounter crowds, you shall know firsthand the evil that men do.**²**"

"Erik, I do not understand you. Why would anyone think you a monster?"

She paused.

"Do you say these things because of your face?"

He nodded and she shook her head.

"Well then, do not feel too badly. People always fear that which is different or that which they do not understand. If they fear you, they fear the difference in the form of your face, not in the substance of the man who wears it. They fear me because they do not understand me. We are as alike as peas in a pod. You wear your difference on the outside and I wear mine on the inside. Perhaps, together we shall heal one another."

Her voice softened.

"I often wonder … how my life would be different … if, well, I just wonder."

"Christine, what is it that you wonder?" He placed his index finger under her chin and lifted her face. "Please? I wish to know everything there is to know about you. If we are to heal each other's hurts, we must not keep secrets." He smiled sweetly to soften his words.

She sighed and nodded. Pausing for a moment, Erik could see that she held some kind of internal debate before she sighed once more.

"Yes, too many secrets solve nothing. Very well, I will tell you ... I often wonder how different my life would be if my Papa had not died. There is something else. Something stranger. Something that I have never told a single soul … not even my Papa …."

"Wait! Do you mean that you have kept this thing you mean to tell me a secret for more than 12 years?"

"Well, longer than that actually. This is something that has been with me as long as I can remember. I have the same dreams over and over and over again. Would you like to hear about them?"

"Absolutely, my dear. Please continue, but we must return to the carriage for the sunlight is failing. I do not wish to incur Madame's wrath by keeping you longer than I promised."

Christine smiled at his words and nodded. He extended his arm to her and she happily entwined hers with his. The pair began to retrace their steps back to the carriage.

"Well, they are not frightening dreams. Rather, I have always found and taken comfort from them. There are several different variations. The one I find most comforting is the one where I am sitting in a small, black boat. The boat is in the dark, yet it is not night, nor is it completely without light. The surface of the water has a veil of thin mist covering it and just as I begin to wonder how I can see the mist, I notice that there are candles and torches ahead in the distance. The boat is moving steadily towards the light, yet I am not rowing the boat. I feel an overwhelming curiosity as to how the boat is moving and turn to look behind me. There is a tall man standing on a platform on the stern, holding a black pole. He looks down at me and I can see his mouth smiling at me. A black mask covers the rest of his face from my sight. He speaks to me softly, yet commandingly. He tells me to sing. It is the sound of his echoing voice, which causes me to notice we are in a cavern. I turn and straighten my posture as best I can, after all singing while sitting is not proper form but then I cannot deny the man's voice. I begin to sing. There are no words to my song; it is almost as if I am performing strange warm-up scales. My voice soars higher and ever higher as the man continues to urge me to sing. Just as we reach the shore of the lake, I sing the highest note I have ever sung and the purity of the sound stuns me into silence. The man says no words of praise to me, but I can feel his silent approval of my voice and it fills my heart with happiness that I have pleased him. Then, as can only happen in dreams, the scene suddenly shifts and I am standing next to a beautiful, black grand piano. The same man sits upon the bench playing Elissa's aria from the third act of _"Hannibal."_ Do you know the one? The name of the aria is _"Think of Me."_ I can feel myself singing only for this man and yet, I can never see his face. I know him and, yet, I do not. I have always thought he was my Angel of Music, but now …."

She stopped speaking and looked away from Erik. He turned and saw the edge of her cheek colored scarlet with embarrassment.

_"My God! She has dreams of caverns and boats! She dreams of a man in a mask! I dream of a woman singing for me and then leaving me. Could it be her? Will she leave me for another? Please God in Heaven, do not let it be! I love her!"_

Erik hesitated a moment before succumbing to his desire to know. He hesitantly whispered and felt an awkward surprise at the raspy sound of his voice.

"What is it that you think now, my dear? Who is the man in the mask?"

"I think he is you, Erik. He has always been you."

**

* * *

¹** "The _greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."_ – _"Nature Boy"_ – Words and Music by Eden Ahbez, 1948 

**²** _"The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones."_ William Shakespeare

* * *


	18. My Days Have Been a Dream

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**A Dream Within a Dream**_

_**Take this kiss upon the brow!  
And, in parting from you now,  
thus much let me avow –  
You are not wrong, who deem  
that my days have been a dream;  
yet if hope has flown away  
in a night, or in a day,  
in a vision, or in none,  
is it therefore the less gone?  
All that we see or seem  
is but a dream within a dream.**_

_**I stand amid the roar  
of a surf-tormented shore,  
and I hold within my hand  
grains of the golden sand –  
How few! Yet how they creep  
through my fingers to the deep,  
while I weep – while I weep!  
O, God! Can I not grasp  
them with a tighter clasp?  
O, God! Can I not save  
one from the pitiless wave?  
Is all that we see or seem  
but a dream within a dream?**_

_**Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)**_

**

* * *

Chapter Eighteen – My Days Have Been a Dream**

Erik hesitated a moment before succumbing to his desire to know. He hesitantly whispered and felt an awkward surprise at the raspy sound of his voice.

"What is it that you think now, my dear? Who is the man in the mask?"

"I think he is you, Erik. He has always been you."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The man paced before his friend.

"_He looks like a caged panther! I have never seen him act like this. What could have precipitated this?"_

Raoul was worried. Not only did he have problems in his own love life, but also, it now seemed Erik did as well and Raoul was worried more for Erik than himself. Raoul knew what he must do, but as Erik had yet to speak, Raoul had no idea what the problem was. All Raoul could do was wait until Erik decided to talk. Raoul placed a hand to his temple and massaged it.

"_I'm getting a hell of a headache."_

"Erik, can I offer you a drink? A whiskey, perhaps?"

The man stopped his pacing for a moment and stared at the younger man, then sighed.

"No, Raoul, no whiskey. Perhaps … do you have ice and blood oranges?"

"Of course, we have ice. The blood oranges, now, those I will have to check with the kitchen, but most likely we do as Phillipe has a penchant for them. Why?"

"Well, I would like to mix myself an _Amour Sanglent_. I know you have Hine Rare V.S.O.P. Cognac, cherry brandy and vanilla liqueur as I can see them on the bar. If you have the blood oranges, please request the kitchen to juice them. Would you like me to make you one?"

Relieved by Erik's sudden mood change, the young man decided to encourage the older man's diversion.

"_Erik's moods shift so rapidly I have never been able to keep up with them."_

"Why, yes. A tall drink sounds very good to me right now. I will check with the kitchen. How much juice do you need?"

"Oh, enough to fill two shot glasses."

"All right. I will return in a moment."

Erik returned to his pacing while waiting for Raoul to return.

"_We dream of one another."_

The phrase repeatedly played itself in his mind. He knew if he could just get past those words, he would be able to think clearly. However, his mind remained stuck.

"_We dream of one another."_

Erik started as Raoul's voice interrupted the silent mantra sounding within his head.

"We are in luck! Here are the items you requested. Ice and blood orange juice! Now, let me see the Master at work, Erik!" Raoul smirked.

Erik returned the look with one of his own and turned to walk behind the well-stocked bar. Reaching up, he brought down two tall, slender glasses. He placed a scoop of the crushed ice into each glass and then quickly placing the different bottles of alcohol he required in front of him, he grabbed a shot glass. Erik then began measuring and mixing the drinks.

"If you were not such an excellent architect, Erik, you would have made the perfect bartender."

Erik cocked his eyebrow at Raoul curiously.

"Well, the thought does occur to me that anyone wishing to confide their tales of woe to you would instantly feel better."

The older man's eyebrow arched higher and his eyes darkened slightly as he anticipated his friend's next words.

"After all, how could anyone try to tell you how horrible their life is? After seeing your mug, they would come away knowing their plight paled in comparison to yours."

The room became deathly silent and Raoul cursed himself for taking his teasing one step too far this time. He raised his eyes to meet his friend's flabbergasted gaze. Erik blinked. He then threw his head back and roared with laughter.

"Raoul! You know that if anyone else said that to me, I would wish to strangle them."

He shook his head and dabbed at his eyes as his laughter had caused tears to run down his cheeks.

"You are a …."

"Amazing?"

"Well, no. I was going to call you an ass before you so rudely interrupted me. Here!"

Raoul huffed as Erik chortled. He gave the drink a stir and then placed it on the bar. He held up his own glass to Raoul.

"To the women we love. Let us hope they will not be the death of us."

Now, it was Raoul's turn to arch an eyebrow at Erik. He lifted his glass, nodded his head and took a sip of the drink. Erik placed the glass to his lips, took a perfunctory taste and frowned. He muttered something Raoul could not quite hear.

"What did you say? I am sorry, I did not hear you."

"I said that it still tastes like alcohol. A rose by any other name**¹**, I suppose."

"Come now, Erik. This is actually quite good. Where did you learn to make this?"

"I read it in a book."

Raoul laughed and shook his head.

"Only you, Erik. Why am I not surprised?"

The older man did not respond, but simply resumed his pacing and Raoul returned to sit in the armchair by the unlit fireplace.

"Erik? When are you going to tell me what is wrong? Did you ask Christine to marry you today? Please do not tell me she said, no."

The dark man halted and stared at the drink in his hand before replying quietly.

"I did ask her and, in fact, she said, yes."

Raoul jumped up from his chair, almost spilling his drink. He rushed over to Erik and clapped him on the back.

"Well done, old man! Congratulations! So … what is the problem? Why are you wearing out a path on my Persian carpet?"

Erik ran his hand through his hair and continued his relentless pacing.

"She seems determined to think of reasons why we should not wed and they only cause me to love her more."

The younger man returned to his seat and considered the little his friend had told him. Suddenly, he sat up straight.

"Erik? Have you told Christine that you love her? I mean, have you said the words, _**I love you**_, to her? I mean, you are so reserved around women and I thought, well, I thought you might not know how important those actual words are to a woman."

The man stopped dead in his tracks and opened his mouth as if he intended to tell his friend he was a fool, but no sound issued from his mouth. Slowly, he closed his mouth and carefully thought over Raoul's words.

"Well, I know that I told her that I never believed I would find love, but …. No, I do not believe I have told her. God, I am such an idiot ! No wonder she doubts me. How could I be so dim?"

Raoul laughed.

"Well, Erik, it is not as if you have a great deal of experience in matters relating to love. In all the time, I have known you; you have never shown any interest in any woman. Christine is your first love. Gaffs are allowable. You simply must tell her. I believe she will forgive you. When will you see her again?"

"When I brought Christine home, I asked Madame when I could call upon Christine again and she said that Christine would be free to dine with me tomorrow evening. I asked Christine if she would allow me to take her to dinner and then dancing. She agreed. I shall call for her at seven o'clock tomorrow evening."

"Then, I suggest that you tell her as soon as you deem it appropriate when you two are in the carriage on your way to the restaurant. Do not wait until you are at the restaurant. There will be too many people and too much noise."

Erik rolled his eyes at Raoul and the young man lifted an eyebrow.

"What?"

Giving Raoul a mock bow, Erik replied.

"But, of course, my dearest father. Thank you for your sage advice."

The young man shook his head and scoffed.

"Erik, you are your own worst enemy."

The man agreed.

"Raoul do you not know that I am always with myself and that I am my greatest tormentor**²**?

The younger man shook his head again and grinned.

"Indeed! That you are, my friend. That you are."

The older man suddenly became thoughtful and a little sad.

"Raoul, I may have found someone who torments themselves even more than I do."

The younger man met his friend's sad visage.

"You are speaking of Christine, are you not?"

He nodded.

"Indeed I am. Christine may torment herself more than I do. She compared the two of us to peas in a pod. I fear she is more correct than she will ever know. I wish I could take away all of her hurts. I would love to see her unaffected smile. I envy you, Raoul. You knew her before …. Well, before. Oh, I almost neglected to tell you something quite extraordinary. I heard Christine sing today."

"Christine sang for you?"

"No, I wish she had, but I do not believe she was even aware of what she was doing. It happened while she told me about her father's death."

The older man shuddered visibly, took a long drink and then continued.

"She spoke of it so calmly and she told it to me mostly in the third person, which was quite eerie. However, also quite understandable as it places distance between her and the painful memories. Are you aware of the circumstances of her father's passing?"

Raoul paled and shook his head.

"She never spoke of it, nor did I believe it to be my place to ask Madame or Meg about it. From the look upon your face, I do not know if I wish to hear what happened."

Erik studied his friend's face and then nodded.

"Very well, I will keep the story for another time. Suffice it to say I am amazed that she is sane, although I am certain there are some that would dispute my claim. I will say that when you told me she had the voice of an angel, I never believed you. I must now beg your pardon for her voice is an exquisite instrument. It may even rival those of the angels. Speaking of angels … who or what is the _**Angel of Music**_?"

Raoul smiled tenderly.

"Oh, the angel. She said something about the Angel of Music to you. Why do you ask? Did you sing for her, Erik?"

The older man gave the younger one a frown and shook his head.

"No, I most certainly did not. You know what happens when I sing around women. My mother told me that I cannot for my voice causes an unholy desire …. I would rather not speak of this, please?"

"Now, Erik, your mother, God rest her soul, was a wonderful woman, but she had some rather peculiar ideas when it came to your voice. However, seeing, as I am not a woman, I suppose I cannot be the judge of how your voice makes women feel. I will respect your wishes on this subject and not speak of it. At least, not right now. So, back to the matter at hand. The Angel of Music was a part of Gustave's tales of the dark North. Madame told Meg once, in a moment of unguarded sorrow, that Christine's father promised her that after he had gone to heaven, he would send the Angel of Music to her. He told her the Angel would watch over her, guard her and guide her. Madame thought that the reason for Christine's melancholy lay in the fact that no angel came to her and she felt unworthy of one. While I do not believe Christine thinks you are an angel, she might think you are the incarnate man sent to her by the angel. Of course, this is all speculation on my part and I could be completely wrong."

Raoul shifted in his chair uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation.

"It seems that I must bear quite a responsibility on my shoulders. I only wish I were not so tired."

"You still have the nightmares, my friend?"

"Yes. I did not sleep much last night. Perhaps, it was just nerves."

"Erik, I wish that you would confide in me about these dreams. If you speak them aloud that may take away their power to torment you so."

"Thank you, Raoul. I am not ready. I do not know if I ever will be ready, but if I ever am, I shall definitely take you up on your offer."

"Believe me, Erik, you are more than welcome."

Erik sat in the armchair across from Raoul and the two men stared at the drinks in their hands. Each one lost in their own thoughts.

**

* * *

¹ **_**"**__What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."_ William Shakespeare (1564–1616) 

**²** _"I am always with myself and it is I who am my tormentor." _Count Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910)

* * *


	19. Together We Sigh

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**in the night**_

_**i wander in the night  
so lost and alone  
i wander in the dark  
and am never at home**_

_**i never feel happy  
i never feel sad  
i never feel  
and that makes me glad**_

_**you walk in the light  
so lost and alone  
you walk in the day  
and are never at home**_

_**you never look happy  
you never look sad  
you never look at all  
and that makes you glad**_

_**together we sigh  
together we cry  
tomorrow we live  
but today we must die**_

_**Nyasia A. Maire, 2007**_

**

* * *

Chapter Nineteen – Together We Sigh**

"Thank you, Raoul. I am not ready. I do not know if I ever will be ready, but if I ever am, I shall definitely take you up on your offer."

"Believe me, Erik, you are more than welcome."

Erik sat in the armchair across from Raoul and the two men stared at the drinks in their hands. Each one lost in their own thoughts.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Oh, Christine! It is so incredibly beautiful and Monsieur Destler is so romantic! I just simply cannot believe that you are engaged to be married! We simply must go and flaunt this ring before Jammes and La Sorelli. They will swoon with envy!"

"No, Meg. I do not wish for them to find a way to mar my happiness. They always do. They do not welcome my presence as they do yours. You know that I have never fit in with the rest of the girls. I am most certain they will find a way to tarnish this day if we inform them of my engagement. Besides, I would like to speak with your Maman and if I do not speak with her tonight, I shall have to wait until next Sunday. My inquiries cannot wait another day, much less an entire week."

The willowy blonde turned and looked up into her friend's eyes, the gaiety fading from her face, a slight frown creasing her brow, her voice becoming soft and slightly anxious.

"Are you all right, Christine? I mean, you are happy, are you not?"

"Yes, Meg. I am happy. I just need to ask your Maman some things about, well, about the things that a husband expects from his wife, you know, the act that makes babies …."

Her voice trailed into silence as she turned a deep scarlet. Her friend blushed as well and looked away.

"Oh … that …. Christine, just remember something when a man and woman love each other, it is full of feelings that are quite pleasant. No, the feelings are wonderful."

Meg's eyes clouded over for a moment, lost in a sweet memory before she continued.

"However, Maman told me about wifely duties soon after Raoul began courting me. I am uncertain whether she intended to make a woman's wedding night sound frightening, but she did. I simply cannot imagine that God would make loving your husband a painful act. Perhaps, a small pain the first time, but not something to dread every time your husband joins with you. I am most certain that if coupling were truly horrible, there would be far less babies in the world. Also, I know that some of the older girls in the chorus and ballet corps have lovers. I overheard La Sorelli talking about Raoul's brother, Phillipe. She seemed quite pleased with the act, so take Maman's advice with a grain of salt, or perhaps in this case, a spoonful of honey."

The two friends stood and stared at one another for a moment in an uncomfortable silence. Meg looked away first, biting her lip.

"I wonder if Raoul is thinking of me. I miss him."

She whispered sadly.

"Meg, you saw him last night! You never see Raoul on Sundays. Has your Maman said anything to you at all about what happened last night?"

"No and that is worse than if she screamed at me. Her silence is worse than any punishment she could mete out to me, other than forbidding me to see Raoul again, of course. I hope he stops by rehearsals tomorrow."

"Would you like me to speak with your Maman about Raoul?"

"Oh heavens, no! Please do not do that Christine. The mere thought of you doing that simply mortifies me. No, I will suffer the silence one more evening. Now, do not let me keep you."

Christine gave Meg an awkward hug.

"_That is the second hug I have received from her in one day. I cannot even remember if she ever hugged me before today. She must be in love. She would never have agreed to marry Monsieur Destler if she did not love him. I am so happy for her. Finally!"_

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"_So, that is how babies are made."_

Christine shivered, but she could not decide if it was out of dread or excitement. She tried to join Meg's words together with her Maman's, but found it difficult to reconcile the two differing points of view.

"_I suppose I will find out the truth after Erik and I marry. I cannot imagine that he would ever do anything to hurt me, so I will just have to trust in that."_

It was still early in the evening and Christine was not at all tired. She decided to go for a walk around the opera house, but first she would pay the chapel a visit. She quickly changed into a black, long-sleeve silk blouse, her black hose, black breeches and soft-soled, black leather boots. She opened her closet and withdrew her black, hooded cloak. Flinging it around her shoulders, she fastened the cloak at her throat with her mother's Egyptian scarab broach and lifted the hood to cover her mass of chocolate-brown curls. Going to the small night table next to her bed, she opened the drawer and withdrew three candles and several wooden matches, placing them in the pocket of her cloak. She examined her reflection and smiled as the onyx broach reflected a sparkle of candle light. She nodded, satisfied with the sight she saw in the mirror.

"_Ah, yes. I look much the proper Opera Ghost now. Madame was correct. Learning to make one's own clothes is a very useful skill. I am certain she never intended that I make myself breeches, but I think they suit me."_

She turned from the mirror, quietly slipped down the hall and out the door. The girl blended into the shadows, avoiding the occasional patch of flickering gas lamp light. She entered the chapel and taking a match from her pocket, lit one of the votive candles. She knelt and said a brief prayer for her father's soul. Her eyes then moved to the stained glass angel. The angel appeared just as it always had. Gone was the twisted half-visage of the night before.

"_Did I imagine it? No. I cannot doubt. No. I will not doubt. After all, I met him. I met Erik, so it did happen."_

"Thank you, angel."

Her gaze shifted upwards.

"Thank you, papa." She whispered.

She stood and brushed the dust from her breeches and hose. Out of the corner of her eye, a twinkle of light caught her attention. She turned and found only the stained glass angel staring at her.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" She smirked.

As if in response to her quiet query, there was a click and the stained glass window began to swing slowly into the darkness of the passage behind it.

"What? Do you wish to lead me somewhere? Very well, my angel. I can refuse you nothing. Lead the way!"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik lifted his eyes from their silent contemplation of his drink, startled.

"Raoul, did you hear something?"

The younger man blinked.

I beg your pardon. What did you say?"

"Did you hear a click?"

Raoul shook his head.

"Sorry, no I did not. I was lost in thought."

The older man hunched forward in his chair, deciding to ignore the sense of foreboding the sound had engendered in his mind. He decided to concentrate on his troubled friend instead.

"I did not wish to intrude upon your privacy, but it is quite evident that something happened last night. Would you like to talk about it?"

Raoul nodded.

"Yes, however, I am quite embarrassed and hope you will not think less of me once I tell you."

"Come now, Raoul, I cannot imagine you doing anything truly despicable. Please, now you simply must tell me everything."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik took a large gulp of his somewhat watered down drink and swallowed hard. He rolled the glass between his hands and mumbled.

"Raoul, do not go so hard on yourself. I wanted to do much the same and more when I was with Christine today. If either of us had more experience in such matters, I am certain our situation would have progressed to the point of no return, perhaps even stepping over that boundary. I believe our desires are normal. It is simply a matter of choice and the strength of will to use one's self-control to do what we know is right.

"Let me tell you a story. When I was a boy, my mother enrolled me in an art class. I was a child of eleven. The other students were between the ages of 17 and 20 years. The teacher was a very happily married man of forty. Every person in that classroom was male, but I was the only boy. The class progressed from shapes to landscapes to still life and then to the human form. One day, the teacher placed all of our easels in a large circle around the classroom, facing towards a cloth draped dais in the center of the room. We all took up our positions in front of our easels. I was working with pastels at the time, so I was ready to begin before most of the other students. Looking around the classroom as I waited, I noticed a door at the back of the classroom open. The teacher led a young woman clothed in a white robe to the dais. He assisted her in climbing onto the dais, where she sat and seemed to be waiting for something. The classroom had been buzzing with the sound of quiet conversations between different groups of the young men, but as one by one, they noticed the newcomer, the silence spread throughout the room. When the teacher determined everyone was ready to proceed, he nodded at the woman. She rose, stood on the dais, removed her robe and sat back down on the dais. The teacher instructed her on how to pose herself and then asked her to remain as still as possible. His only instructions to us, his students, were to draw what we saw. He said we could use any style we wished realism, pointillism, impressionism, any '-ism' we wished. As long as the resulting work represented the sight before our eyes. I looked at the woman for a long time before I began sketching her. She seemed to me to be a study in darkness. Everything about her was black: her eyes, eyebrows, and her short, wild, shaggy hair, all black. Even her lips and nipples were dark. Instead of pink or red, this woman's lips and nipples looked almost a dark purple. She made me think of Ovid's tale of Medusa.

"Medusa was originally a beautiful nymph. She had many suitors and caused much jealousy with her fickle and flirtatious nature. She was very proud of her beautiful hair and used it to taunt her suitors. Unfortunately, she attracted the attention of Poseidon and he followed her one day to Athena's temple, where he raped her. The goddess, outraged at her temple's defilement, blamed the nymph. In her anger, Athena transformed Medusa's beautiful hair into poisonous serpents and changed her lovely face into something so terrible to behold that any man merely looking upon it turned into stone.

"I attempted to capture the transformation of nymph into monster on my canvas that day. I was so intent upon my task that I did not take note of the tense atmosphere of the classroom until the teacher stopped behind me to watch me work. I stepped aside so he could examine my canvas and it was then that I noticed the air of the room felt alive with a dangerous electricity. As my gaze moved about the room, I saw that all of my fellow student's eyes had narrowed and turned dark. Their normally enthusiastic demeanors turned sullen and strained.

"I turned to the teacher and he read the confusion in my eyes. He placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled. Then, he said, _"__The active part of man consists of powerful instincts, some of which are gentle and continuous; others violent and short; some baser, some nobler, and all necessary." _**¹** He went on to say, the true test of a man's nature is whether he controls his baser instincts or he allows them to control him. He let his eyes wander around the room and indicated that my fellow students had yet to pass the test. They were still learning self-control.

"And, that, my friend, is the point of this rather rambling tale. We are still learning. We may stumble as long as we stand and try once more. There is no failure where there is no surrender. There is simply the next challenge."

Raoul's eyes were thoughtful.

"Well, let us hope that Madame affords me the opportunity to meet the next challenge."

"Did she forbid you from seeing Meg?"

"No."

"Well then, when would you normally see Meg again?"

"Tomorrow after her morning rehearsal. I usually take her to luncheon."

"I suggest you arrive at your customary time and allow things to progress from there. Let Madame see that you are present and intend to continue your wooing of her daughter. It is all up to Madame then. She is no fool. I believe she knows you are sincere in your intentions and not just attempting to seduce her daughter. You did declare your wish to wed her daughter. Did you not?"

"Yes, I did. I even showed her the ring I carry while I wait for an opportune moment to propose."

Erik shook his head.

"Really, Raoul. I feel out of my depth in this conversation. I do not wish to mislead you, but common sense seems to suggest that as long as you really love her and she loves you, all should be well."

Raoul smiled weakly.

"I pray you are right, Erik. I truly do."

"My friend, so do I."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The girl removed a candle and match from the pocket of her cloak. Striking the match across the rough surface of the stone wall, she lit the candle, blew out the match and placed the burnt wooden stick back in her pocket. Carefully, she pushed against the stained glass until she could pass through the opening. She slipped through, closed the secret door behind her, closed her eyes and waited for a sign from her angel.

Christine felt a slight movement in the air around her. The flame of her candle briefly flickered and then burned steady once more. After a few moments, the girl thought she heard the sound of music somewhere in the distance. Opening her eyes, she decided to follow the path where the gust of air originated. She held her candle high as she began her search for the source of the heavenly music, her feet carrying her ever deeper into the cellars of the opera house.

**

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¹ **_"__The active part of man consists of powerful instincts, some of which are gentle and continuous; others violent and short; some baser, some nobler, and all necessary."_ Francis W. Newman (1805–1897)

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	20. The House under the Hill

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

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**Mature Material contained in Erik's section of this chapter . . . Consider yourself warned!**

**

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DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

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_**The House on the Hill**_

_**They are all gone away,  
the house is shut and still,  
there is nothing more to say.**_

_**Through broken walls and gray,  
the winds blow bleak and shrill:  
They are all gone away.**_

_**Nor is there one today  
to speak them good or ill:  
There is nothing more to say.**_

_**Why is it then we stray  
around the sunken sill?  
They are all gone away.**_

_**And our poor fancy-play  
for them is wasted skill:  
There is nothing more to say.**_

_**There is ruin and decay  
In the House on the Hill  
they are all gone away,  
There is nothing more to say.**_

_**Edwin Arlington Robinson**_

**

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Chapter Twenty – The House under the Hill**

Christine felt a slight movement in the air around her. The flame of her candle briefly flickered and then burned steady once more. After a few moments, the girl thought she heard the sound of music somewhere in the distance. Opening her eyes, she decided to follow the path where the gust of air originated. She held her candle high as she began her search for the source of the heavenly music and her feet carried her ever deeper into the cellars of the opera house.

The sweet strains of a masterfully played violin wafted up from the cold depths of the opera house. If the girl had kept count on her journey down to the source of the music, she would know she had just passed the level of the fifth cellar. However, so intent was she on discovering the source of the music, she gave no thought to keeping track of her steps. She was no longer within the confines of the opera house, but in the caverns below its foundation. Gradually, Christine became aware of a sound other than the music and realized that dripping water now accompanied the violin. She rounded a bend in the path and halted abruptly at the unexpected sight before her as it registered in her mind. A large lake or wide, slow moving river ended the path she followed. Christine groaned in disappointment.

"_I am so close! If I can just find my way to the other side, the source of the music must be there! I just know it! Dammit!"_

She stomped her booted foot in an unusual fit of frustration.

"Ow!"

She cried as pain shot through her foot. She hobbled back a step and shone her candle over the offending area.

"I do not believe what I am seeing!" She muttered.

She bent down and picked up a piece of black, glass-like rock.

"Obsidian! What is this doing here?"

Shrugging the thought aside for the moment, she placed the rock into her cloak pocket, leaned against the cavern wall, picked up her injured foot and examined the bottom of her boot.

"Well, that is most fortunate! At least it did not slice open my boot. The edges of that stone rival those of a knife."

She returned her foot to the ground and carefully shifted her weight, to test whether she sprained her ankle. She grimaced only slightly, but after working her weight back and forth, the pain lessened.

"I am in luck. My ankle is only slightly strained. I do not wish to think what would have happened to me if I had hurt it seriously. Perhaps, my coming down here was not the wisest of choices."

As if in response to her thought, the plaintive strains of the violin suddenly ceased.

"_Wonderful! Now the music is gone as well."_ She groaned.

She glanced around, saw a large rock on the shore of the lake and decided to rest before she began her return trip up to the opera house. Gathering the bottom of her cloak about her waist to avoid wetting it in the lake, she sat on the rock. Carefully, she removed the obsidian from her pocket and placed it on her lap. The dark stone glittered like black diamonds in the pale light of her candle.

"This is amazing! It looks like someone shaped this, but why would someone fashion it with three edges? If I wrapped a leather strip around the wide end and refined the point on the other, this would make an excellent knife. Hmm …. I do believe that is exactly what I shall do. I would have to wet the leather, of course, so it would …."

The sound of soft, rhythmic splashing interspersed with creaking wood, interrupted the girl's thoughts. Quickly, she returned the stone to her pocket, retreated around the bend in the path and snuffed out her candle. She bit her lip and consciously quieted her excited breathing. Pulling the hood of her cloak low over her face and pressing her small body into the cavern wall, she peered cautiously around the bend. She listened to the steadily approaching sounds and desperately tried to ignore the pounding of her heart.

Alone in the dark, she listened and waited.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik sat on his bed staring at his mother's wedding band. He loved the rosebuds, which encircled the antiqued gold band.

"_When I place this ring on her finger, I am giving her roses that will never die."_

He smiled gently, closed the small box and placed it on his bedside table. Removing the pin from his cravat, he tossed it onto the table next to the jeweler's box. He loosened his cravat as he lay back on his bed. He stared unseeingly at the ceiling, his mind lost in his reminisces of Christine's sweet lips on his.

"_Such passion and innocence! How will I resist her?"_

His eyes slipped closed as he slid deeper into his memories and his body hardened in response. He shook free of Christine's ghostly lips, stood and readied himself for bed. Sliding between the sheets and under the blankets, he allowed himself to return once again to his musings. Images of the sunlight glancing off her curls, the faint smell of her bath soap, the taste of wine on her lips and the sound of her divine voice all served to send his body into a highly aroused state. Unknowingly, a growl of desire escaped his lips as his body remembered the feel of her in his arms. His heated body could take no more and overrode his normally proper mind. His hand moved down and grasped his straining need. With thoughts of Christine whirling inside his overheated brain, his hand began moving. Throwing the bedclothes from his body, he slid half out of his bed to rest his feet on the floor. His hips arching up to meet the downward stroke of his hand and his head pressed back deep into his mattress. His breathing ragged, he moaned Christine's name, as his hand moved up and caressed the wet tip with the palm of his hand. His hand continued its motion and paused only to spread the moisture about his tip. Several times, he lightly squeezed the tip between his thumb and forefinger to delay the moment and increase the ultimate pleasure. However, an errant thought of Christine's tongue battling his caused the tempo of his hand to cease and his hips took over as he thrust harder and faster, pounding his way toward release. He felt the familiar tingle and tightness building and knew his moment of completion drew near. The image that pushed him over the edge was that of Christine lying in her bed from the night before, gazing at him coquettishly. He cried out her name as he spent himself into his hand. His hand once more taking over and pulling at his hot, slick and twitching member. He lay there spent and physically sated, but his mind longed for the woman that inspired his need. Slowly, his body calmed. With a somewhat disgusted sigh, he leaned over to his bedside table, opened the drawer, removed a handkerchief from the drawer and wiped away the results of his exertions. He rose, walked to his bathroom, rinsed the soiled cloth, tossed it into the hamper and leaned forward resting his hands on the vanity top. Although he extinguished the lamps in his room, the moonlight provided adequate lighting for him to see his reflection in the mirror above his sink.

"Well, Monsieur, I reiterate, how will you ever be able to resist her?"

The man stared into the mirror and after a moment, shook his head.

"That is exactly what I thought. For all of the alleged brilliance of your mind that is one question for which you have no answer. Yet, that is the one question I need answered most desperately."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Antoinette Giry paced across her parlor for what seemed to her, the hundredth time that evening. The last 24 hours had been emotionally trying for her and she saw no end in sight to her current state of upset. Two sets of lovers – one so blissfully in love that their passion threatened to overthrow their good sense and the other so dangerously repressed that the moment their passion caught up with them … she shook her head. Both of the couples faced the same results, the emotions leading up to the end differed, but the result was the same.

"_Christine wants to know about wifely duties and Meg is so randy that she may have …. No! I would know if my own daughter had …. Would I?"_

Her pacing halted abruptly and her head cocked slightly to the side.

"_I would know. My interruption last night caused them greater embarrassment than it did guilt. I will know if they cross the line if I ever see guilt in Meg's eyes. I am a fortunate mother. My little Meg wears her heart on her sleeve."_

Antoinette began pacing again.

"_No. Raoul and Meg do not truly worry me. It is Raoul's parents. Now, they are the true source of my concern."_

Shaking her head, she sighed and continued her pacing unabated.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Christine swallowed carefully to relieve the tightness in her throat, which threatened to choke her. Fortunately, for the girl, she had no fear of the dark and after her years spent prowling the hidden passages of the opera house, Christine found she could see better in the dark than anyone she knew. Meg had once informed her that her eyes seemed to glow an unearthly red in the dark, so Christine held her hood to make certain her eyes would not give her away to the occupant of the small boat that rowed toward the shore.

"_Whoever is rowing that boat is very strong. I do not believe I have seen them or heard them pause a single time in their strokes."_

Suddenly, Christine heard the words inside her head, _**"Keep your hand at the level of your eyes!"**_

She bit her lip.

"_From what fantasy did that thought come?"_

She shook her head slightly to clear it.

"_I already am. Can you not see my hand holding my hood? Thank you for your help but I really need you to be quiet right now! I need to concentrate."_

Her internal conversation halted as she heard the sound of the boat grating against the rocky shore and the perturbed hiss of the boat's occupant.

Christine watched as the dark shape in the boat released the oars, stood up and grabbed the lantern hanging on a post at the boat's prow. The cloaked figure moved with a careless grace that Christine found somehow familiar as they hopped out of the boat and onto the shore. She held her breath as the figure turned and pulled the rowboat higher onto the shore. The shadowy figure straightened and spoke without turning to face Christine.

"You are quite safe, my child. I do not intend to harm you. Please come out. We have much to discuss and not a great deal of time in which to do it."

Christine released the breath she held as the well-loved voice washed over her ears. She smiled, stepped away from the cavern wall and went to face her past.

* * *

**Author's Note: HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!! Please note that I performed a minor re-write of the first chapter and added poems to the beginning of the first four chapters, so they now follow with the overall theme I established in the subsequent chapters. Due to Mother's Day, my family allowed me to spend all day yesterday and all day today writing!!! Whoopee!!! So, you now have two updates in as many days! I shall endeavor to post Chapter 21 - If ... no later than Wednesday. To all you fluff fans, this fiction earned it's "M" rating with this chapter ... sorry, it's a solo scene, but this Erik is too proper for premarital sex! TTFN! --ny

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**


	21. If

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

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**DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**if . . .**_

_**if you are the dreamer  
am i the dream  
if you are the singer  
am i the song**_

_**walking down the path of life  
a million different turns  
each one another chance  
another dance for us to learn**_

_**if you are the face  
am i your reflection  
if you are the lover  
am i your love**_

_**Nyasia A. Maire, 2007**_

**

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Chapter Twenty-One – If**

Christine watched as the dark shape in the boat released the oars, stood up and grabbed the lantern hanging on a post at the boat's prow. The cloaked figure moved with a careless grace that Christine found somehow familiar as they hopped out of the boat and onto the shore. She held her breath as the figure turned and pulled the rowboat higher onto the shore. The shadowy figure straightened and spoke without turning to face Christine.

"You are quite safe, my child. I do not intend to harm you. Please come out. We have much to discuss and not a great deal of time in which to do it."

Christine released the breath she held as the well-loved voice washed over her ears. She smiled, stepped away from the cavern wall and went to face her past.

"Papa? It is you, is it not? Papa?"

The uncertainty and hesitancy of her words belied the confidence of her bearing as she strode towards the dark figure. She halted two steps behind the cloaked shape and placed her hands on her hips, annoyance tingeing her voice to cover her sudden fear.

"Papa?"

She took one step closer, reached her hand out and placed it on the form's shoulder. Drawing a deep breath, she gave the shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Papa, please? It is I, your daughter, Christine. Please look at me, speak with me."

Dripping water was the only sound, which followed her pleas and then the soft swish of the cloak before her as it slowly, almost hesitantly, turned towards the young woman.

"Oh, Christine! My only child, it has been too long! I have missed you so very much!"

Christine looked up and tried to peer inside the hood to see the face of the man standing before her, but could see only darkness. An unpleasant chill pierced her heart as a strange foreboding caused her to lift her free hand to the level of her eyes. At the same time, she moved her hand from the man's shoulder and pulled the hood back to reveal his face.

The man before her was indeed her father and at the same time not. Her last memory of him, of course, was when she held his corpse in her arms twelve years ago, but ….

"_He is so young! He cannot be more than a few years older than I am right now. He is younger than Erik."_

The man raised his hand, briefly touched his palm to her cheek and then playfully tapped his thumb on Christine's nose. Christine's heart soared as she remembered her father's silly caress. She pretended to nip at his thumb just as she did when she was a child, which elicited a soft chuckle from him.

"Come, Christine. As I said, there is much to say and I cannot stay."

A look of sorrow crossed his youthful features, but he quickly blinked it away. He sprang lightly into the boat and laughed at Christine's look of surprise.

"I am not in pain anymore, child, for I no longer have a physical body. This …." He placed his hands on his chest. "Is but a temporary gift, so that I may fulfill my promise to you. Here, allow me to help you. Take my hand, Christine."

She took his hand without hesitation and he helped her into the boat. She sat and he took an oar and used it to push the boat away from the shore. He replaced the oar, maneuvered the small craft around and began to row to the opposite shore.

"Papa? When you said you are here to fulfill your promise, what did you mean?"

The man sighed and sadly looked long into her eyes.

"Before I died, I promised to send the Angel of Music to you and I never did. I wanted to send the angel to you, but no such angel existed here, until now."

"But, Papa …."

"Hush, Christine. Let me take you to my home then I hope to answer all of your questions."

The two spoke no more, as the man swiftly rowed the small boat to the far side of the lake. The only sound the steady swish of water and creak of the wooden oars. Christine watched the man's back move back and forth as his arms continued to pull and push on the oars. The rhythm of his motion so hypnotic that she started when the boat bumped and slid smoothly onto the sandy beach of the opposite shore.

The young man who was once her father turned the oars up and then down into the boat. He stood, extended his hand to her and he helped her onto the shore. The two walked side-by-side up the beach and stood before the small house.

"Welcome home, Christine."

He opened the door and waved his hand, indicating she should enter before him. She walked into the brightly lit room, closely followed by the man. The door moved of its own accord, softly closing behind them.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

After his moment of weakness, which ended in his self-indulgence, Erik hoped he would be able to fall into a dreamless sleep. However, his sated sleep lasted barely an hour. He now sat propped up leaning on pillows stacked against his bed's headboard. In his hands, he held a volume of poetry by Edgar Allan Poe. His eyes began to read the first stanza of _"Annabel Lee"_ again, but his mind simply could not absorb the words. Sleepless nights were not an unusual occurrence for him, but the feeling of restlessness, the feeling that he needed to be elsewhere, was. He tossed the book aside with a grunt of aggravation.

"_I think I will saddle up Caesar and go for a ride. Perhaps after a ride, I shall be able to sleep."_ The man snorted his disbelief._ "And, if I believe that pigs will fly!"_

He threw back the bedcovers, quickly donned warm, dark clothes and made his way downstairs to his stable where he led a proud, white Lipizzaner stallion from its stall. Erik loved few things in his life as much as he did Caesar. It was during a visit to Vienna just after Erik's graduation from Politecnico di Milano that Erik first saw a performance by the Spanish Riding School of Vienna and had fallen in love with the horse breed. It had taken several months and the gratis design of the horses' new performance hall before he received permission to purchase and train with Caesar. Erik would never forget the first time he saw Caesar. It was love at first sight. The colt was four years old and as dictated by tradition, ready to begin the first stage of training. Caesar was a rarity in that he became completely white prior to his fourth year. Erik spent the first three months working to gain the horse's trust and teaching it discipline. The next twenty-one months, he spent exercising the horse to keep it supple and flexible. During those two wonderful years, Erik was the sole caregiver of Caesar and a deep bond formed between the man and the horse. Erik swore to Raoul that Caesar had more intelligence than most people he knew. Although the horse would never publicly perform, Erik realized that as a Lipizzaner, Caesar had the innate need to train for the performing figures. The man spent an additional two years in Vienna, training with his horse in the riding school. Erik and Caesar learned the perfect balance required to execute the levade, how to perform a cadenced quadrille, how to make the leap into a high courbette and how to soar suspended midair in a capriole. The four years in Vienna were good ones and Erik's reputation as the architect who designed the Spanish Riding School's performance hall helped him establish his firm upon his return to Paris.

Erik paused only long enough to grab his horse's tack from its hook, anxious to begin their sojourn into the night. The horse nickered softly and tossed back his regal head when Erik attempted to place the bit into his mouth.

"Steady there, boy! Not in the mood, eh?" The man chuckled. "Very well then, Caesar. I shan't burden you with this saddle either. Tonight we shall ride bareback and breakneck through the streets of Paris!"

And with those words, the tall man leapt onto the horse's back, wound a handful of mane about his hand and gently leaned his weight forward. Caesar immediately responded to the silent command of his master and walked out into the night. The two swiftly made their way through the wide boulevards, oblivious to the stares of any who happened to be out walking the streets. Erik abandoned himself to the joy of riding. The man guided the horse on a circuitous route to the opera house without realizing what he was doing, until Caesar halted before the brightly lit front of the building. Erik laughed aloud as he realized that Caesar now had a rival for his affections in the form of Christine Daae.

"I wonder if she is awake. I wonder what she is doing. Is she thinking of me? Do I dare chance to drop in for a visit? What do you think, Caesar? Would you like to see if the Populaire's stable houses any interesting mares?"

He patted the horse's withers not expecting an answer, so Caesar surprised him by turning to look him in the eye and nodding his large head.

"You never cease to amaze me, my friend!" The man laughed again. "Well, let us pay the stable a visit and then I shall call upon my sweet Christine."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Christine walked into the house on the shore of the underground lake and gasped.

"Papa! This house looks just like the one …."

"Yes, Christine. I know. I thought perhaps you would feel more comfortable if your surroundings were familiar."

The man swiftly interrupted.

The girl eyed him uncertainly.

"I believe it is time to answer your questions." The man held out his hand in the direction of the settee.

"Please, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?"

"No, Papa. I am fine, thank you. Please! What are you doing here? What is happening?"

The man sighed, pulled an armchair closer to the settee and took a seat.

"I never meant for you to be alone all this time, Christine, but when I entered heaven, I discovered that there was no such thing as the Angel of Music. Since there is no Angel of Music, I could not keep my promise to you. I would not allow that to happen, so I offered to exchange my immortal soul for that of an angel's. And …." The man spread his hands out, palms up. "Voilà! From man to Angel of Music in a blink of God's eye."

"But, Papa … if you are the Angel of Music and you never sent anyone to me …. Well, that means that …. Oh, no! Papa! I met a man yesterday and I thought I saw his face in the stained glass window in the chapel. He is a wonderful man and I consented to marry him today, but I thought the Angel of Music sent him to me. Was I wrong? Did I imagine seeing his face in the stained glass?"

The girl's eyes filled with tears and her lower lip trembled.

"Do not cry, child. You did not imagine it. I did show you Erik's face. I also helped you discover the hidden passages of the opera house. I may not have been able to stop the other girls from tormenting you, but I was at least able to provide you with a sanctuary. I am so sorry that you had to be the one to find my body. I am so very sorry that I could not watch over you and guide you as you grew up. And, I am sorry that I will not be able to see you marry and become a mother. I wish I could, but I cannot."

The unshed tears began to spill from her eyes.

"Why?"

His dry eyes met her wet ones.

"I have responsibilities now and … well, I am dead, Christine. I am not a ghost or a spirit. I do not haunt this place. I died and I cannot come back from the dead. Only one did that and I am not him. This is a visit to put things to rights. Do you understand?"

"Why do you not cry? Do you not miss me?"

"I cannot. It is one of the things I am not allowed to do. And, of course, I miss you."

She sighed.

"Very well, Papa. What is it that you need to put to rights?"

The man leaned forward and looked seriously into the girl's burning eyes.

"There are two things. The first is that you must sing again. Christine, your voice is a gift from God. I trained your voice for you to use it, not for you to hide it away. You must sing again. And, that leads me to the second thing I must ask of you. Erik. He is the one that will help bring your voice to its full potential. He is also the one that will take care of you, love you and spend the rest of his life watching over you for me. I just needed you to know that I did not forget my promise and that Erik is the one I sent. However, child, never forget that he is a man, not an angel and as such he needs you just as much as you need him. You must promise me that you will take care of him and allow him to take care of you. As a man, he is not perfect, but Erik is the perfect man for you."

The girl smiled through her tears.

"I know that, Papa. I have known that he is the one for me ever since the first moment I laid my eyes upon him. It relieves my mind that you now seem to give my union with Erik your blessing. It lightens my heart and it feels good to hear those words coming from your lips. Papa, I promise you. I promise to allow him to care for me as I will care for him. I love him, Papa."

"Christine."

"Yes, Papa?"

"I need you to promise me that you will sing again."

"But …."

"No. I need you to promise me, here and now. I need you to promise that you will allow Erik to help you find your voice and that you will share your voice with the world by returning to sing on the stage. Christine, promise me."

The girl looked long and hard at the man sitting across from her, seeming to memorize every inch of his face, wanting to draw out the moment.

"Christine, my time is done. I must leave. Will you give me your promise?"

"If I give you my word, will we be happy?"

"Child, I would not have you do anything that would harm you. Surely, you must know that in your heart. Christine, please?"

The young man's once solid form began to fade, turning transparent. Christine could see through his body to the clock sitting behind him.

"Papa, I promise. I promise! Oh, please do not go yet! Papa!"

She leapt from her seat on the settee and grabbed for his arm, but her fingers grasped only air. The man smiled sadly, as he faded from her sight.

"Oh, Christine!"

His voice echoed through the now empty cavern, mingling with the soft cries of the girl.

"Oh, Papa! Wait! I love you!"

The girl sat in the dark on the cold, hard ground, crying into her hands. After a time, she looked up and around her. She frowned.

"Wonderful! Now, how am I supposed to find my way out of here?"

* * *

**Author's Note: I would like to thank all of my lovely reviewers. I have been so busy working and writing that I haven't had a chance to thank you individually, so I would like to thank you collectively! --ny**

* * *


	22. Fire Discovered

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**Someday,  
after mastering winds, waves, tides and gravity,  
we shall harness the energy of love;  
and for the second time in the history of the world,  
man will have discovered fire.**_

_**Pierre Teilhard De Chardin**_

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two – Fire Discovered **

The girl sat in the dark on the cold, hard ground, crying into her hands. After a time, she looked up and around her. She frowned.

"Wonderful! Now, how am I supposed to find my way out of here?"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The gentle knock on her door startled Madame from her reverie and she immediately stopped her pacing. She stared accusingly at the door as if it were the lumber's fault a sound issued from it and not the fault of the person rapping upon it. Her shoulders sagged for a moment, before she regained her composure and drew herself up into her normally imposing posture. Clearing her throat, she called.

"I am coming! One moment, please!"

She turned to check her appearance in the mirror next to the door and was pleased to find she did not appear at all disheveled. She tucked a few wisps behind her ears and patted her hair. She then smoothed her skirts before turning to the door. She settled her features into their usual emotionless mask and opened the door. Seeing Erik Destler at her front door after ten o'clock in the evening surprised her so much that she felt almost proud of her self-control. She did not even arch an eyebrow or cock her head to indicate her curiosity. She simply stood before the doorway and stared at the man. Inwardly, she felt as if her jaw dropped to the floor. Gone were the stilted, formally dressed dandy of the night before and the hesitant, awkward gentleman of earlier this afternoon. In their place stood a man, confident, rugged, sensual. The man wore a dark brown cloak thrown back over his shoulders with the hood hanging down his back beneath the cloak she spied a ruffled white shirt which hung open to his waist to expose his firmly muscled chest. His chest was bronzed, smooth and hairless. His trousers were a lighter brown than the cloak and tailored to accentuate his narrow waist and hips. Antoinette's control slipped and she found herself in such a state of shock that she lost focus for a moment and blinked. This new Erik smirked as he took note of her response. She retaliated by folding her arms across her chest and narrowing her eyes. The man lazily arched his one eyebrow while he continued his sardonic smirk.

"_Good Lord! Are all my worries to confront and confound me? What in heaven's name has set him on this path? I worried over this man's repressed emotions. I wondered what would happen when he released them. Heaven help us! I do believe Monsieur Destler is sans masque tonight!"_

She escalated the silent competition by tapping her foot. His smirk slid into a long, lazy grin. He dipped his head forward as way of greeting the woman.

"Madame, I know it is late and I humbly apologize for arriving on your doorstep at this hour unexpected, but could you find it in your heart to allow me to call briefly on my fiancée?"

He flashed an irresistible smile, folded his arms across his broad chest and leaned against the door jamb.

Antoinette felt a rush of warmth run through her body. The man simply exuded an air of sensuality, but she knew he held no interest in her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body and see the smoldering fire lit within his eyes.

"Madame?"

"Monsieur, may I have your word that you will comport yourself in the manner befitting a gentleman and treat Christine with the respect she deserves?"

The woman's words cooled Erik's heated mind somewhat. Riding Caesar never failed to exhilarate him, but witnessing Caesar's excitement and subsequent attempt at mounting a mare in the stable along with his own earlier self-indulgence had driven the man into an almost frenzied state of arousal. Every nerve ending of his body screamed for Christine's touch. He hung suspended between his need to take her and his need to do the proper thing. His body moved with the grace of a panther hiding the turmoil of his mind behind the fluid movements of the predator as he slid from the door jamb and entered the room.

"Well, Monsieur?"

He almost growled at the woman, but restrained himself at the last moment thinking that reaction would not be helpful in his quest to see Christine.

"Of course, Madame. You have my word as a gentleman, as the man who loves Christine above all others and desires more than words can say for her to be my wife."

"Very well. Wait here. I will fetch her for you."

The woman turned and made her way down the short hall. She knocked on Christine's bedroom door, waited a moment and then knocked again. After another short delay, Erik heard her call to Christine and then the woman opened the door. The sound of the woman's soft cry of alarm had Erik down the hall and at her side before she could even turn to call for him. She gasped as she backed into the man's broad chest. All of her previous control gone. Antoinette turned to Erik.

"She is not here, Monsieur! She is gone!"

Antoinette watched as the confident facade fell away from the man and the repressed gentleman returned. Erik looked around the quiet, neat and obviously empty room.

"_Well, at least it is obvious to me. I can feel whenever she is near."_

"When did she go out, Madame?"

"No, you do not understand, Monsieur. I did not see her go out, nor did she tell me of her intention to leave. I believed she had gone to bed, but it appears the opera ghost needed to prowl tonight."

"How can you be certain of this?"

The woman walked to the wardrobe, opened the doors and rummaged through Christine's clothes.

"Her breeches, boots and cloak are gone. She only wears those things when she's skulking about the opera house."

The man's stunned expression would have been ludicrous except for the fact that Antoinette knew he loved the girl and felt concern for her safety. She attempted to calm his now frazzled nerves.

"You do not need to worry. She knows the opera house better than any person save, perhaps, Monsieur Garnier does. She may simply be visiting the chapel. She goes there often to talk to and pray for her father. Come, I will show you the way to the chapel. If she is not there, if you call out to her from the chapel, she may hear you in whatever passageway she lurks in tonight. Sound carries strangely in that room."

"Thank you, Madame. I appreciate your kindness. Please direct me to the chapel. I am unused to this side of Christine and I must admit it causes me great consternation. Now, please do not believe that I think any less of Christine. I hold her in the highest regard. I simply hoped that she would not feel the need to stalk about as a phantom in this opera house any longer."

The woman smiled sadly at the man.

"Monsieur, have faith. I am certain her need to cling to such ways will diminish in time. She cannot completely change her ways in a single day, but already I see a light in her eyes, a happiness that I have never seen there. I believe you are the cause of that light and I know all will be well now that the two of you have met."

"Thank you, Madame. I swore to you that I would do all in my power to make Christine happy and I intend to hold true to my word. Now, please, after you, Madame. I would like to pay a visit to the opera ghost's chapel."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The man swept through the dimly lit corridors, barely taking in his surroundings. His mind focused at last on a single purpose, to find Christine. So intent was he on his thought that he almost passed the small, dusty passage leading down to the chapel. Fortunately, he noticed a gleam of light out of the corner of his eye and turned to see the word, _**Chapel**_, painted above the path's arched entryway. He slowed his pace to a cautious walk and carefully descended the rough pathway. He paused at threshold to peer inside the small room. The only source of light in the room was several guttering votive candles, the gaslights extinguished for the night. His eyes searched the shadows, but he could not see anything, it was simply too dark.

"Christine? Are you in here?"

A faint mumble caught his attention and he rushed into the room.

"Christine?"

He held still, careful not to make a sound before he called again louder.

"Christine?"

Another mumble. The man became certain his fiancée was in the room, somewhere. Carefully, he began to walk into the room, making his way to the rack of votive candles.

"Come to me, Christine. I need to know that you are all right."

"Angel?"

Christine's whispered voice echoed around the room, heavy with sleep.

"No, Christine. It is Erik. Christine?"

The man almost jumped out of his skin when the shadow before his feet moved and stood.

"Oh my God!" He thundered.

The shadow became a figure. Erik saw two black arms reach up and push back a hood, revealing a mass of chocolate brown curls.

"Christine!"

Erik rushed to her and scooped her up into his arms, hugging her to him tightly in relief.

"Umph! Erik!"

The startled girl groaned and then giggled.

"Put me down! Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"Only where you are concerned, my dear."

He looked down upon her upturned face and felt his restraint give way to his desire. He leaned down and kissed her passionately. Her mouth did not respond at first, but then she snaked her arms around his neck. She pulled him closer and parted her lips slightly. Erik immediately deepened the kiss, his tongue tangled with hers and his mind lost in a blissful haze. He groaned and sank to his knees, the power of his need sapping the strength from his legs. His hands began to run down her back and up into her hair. Christine's hands ran through his hair and then caressed his face. The feel of her touching his marred flesh broke through the little restraint he had left and when he next broke from her lips to breathe, he realized his body now lay atop hers on the floor. He pushed himself to his knees.

"Oh my God!" He murmured, stroking her cheek. "I want you so very much. Oh, Christine!"

The girl smiled up at him and then pulled him back down to join his lips with hers. Their movements becoming wilder by the moment. His hands moved to her front, one cupping her breast and the other, her mound of Venus. His hips began to move against hers when they both cried out in sudden pain and both pushed away from the other.

"What the hell was that?"

Christine's hands fumbled for a moment within the folds of her cloak.

"Ow! Dammit!"

She pulled her hand from her cloak and in it was a smooth, black object, which glittered darkly in the candlelight. Erik leaned forward, curious.

"What is that?"

Christine held the black stone to Erik and he picked it up.

"Careful! It is very sharp! It is obsidian. I found it tonight along the shore of the underground lake."

She stuck her bloodied finger in her mouth and paused, her head tilted to one side.

"Erik! Do you know what this means?"

Not being certain as to the meaning of her comment, Erik shrugged.

"That stone is my proof that I was not dreaming. I was there and if I was there, then so was he!"

* * *


	23. The Paradigm

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: **I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**The Paradigm**_

_**We here and that man, this man,**__**  
**__**and that other in-between, **__**  
**__**and that woman, this woman, **__**  
**__**and that other, whoever, **_

_**those people, and these, **__**  
**__**and these others in-between, **__**  
**__**this thing, that thing, **__**  
**__**and this other in-between, whichever, **_

_**all things dying, these things, **__**  
**__**those things, those others in-between, **__**  
**__**good things, bad things, **__**  
**__**things that were, that will be, **_

_**being all of them, **__**  
**__**he stands there.**_

_**Nammalwar**_

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three – The Paradigm**

Christine held the black stone to Erik and he picked it up.

"Careful! It is very sharp! It is obsidian. I found it tonight along the shore of the underground lake."

She stuck her bloodied finger in her mouth and paused, her head tilted to one side.

"Erik! Do you know what this means?"

Not being certain as to the meaning of her comment, Erik shrugged.

"That stone is my proof that I was not dreaming. I was there and if I was there, then so was he!"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"We need to talk. Somewhere private." She paused, thinking. "I know just the place. Come with me."

She held out her hand to the man as if to lead him, but instead, he returned the stone to her. Christine considered the stone in her hand for a moment and then raised her eyes to Erik. The man took a step back in surprise. The woman gazing at him suddenly seemed taller and older, more aloof and withdrawn. Erik caught just the briefest glimpse of sadness in her eyes before coldness veiled her gaze.

"Would you like to see one of the reasons the ballet rats believe me a ghost?"

A slight, devilish sneer caused Erik to feel even more apprehensive about his fiancée's seemingly innocent inquiry. Attempting to keep his tone light, he teased.

"You do not plan on making yourself disappear, do you, my dear?"

She allowed herself to give her head just the slightest of shakes while she looked up at him through her thick, dark eyelashes. She threw her cloak back off her shoulders and rolled up the sleeve of her shirt as she spoke.

"No, I do not plan on disappearing, although I could if you wish, but I thought I might start with something just a bit smaller. Perhaps, this?"

She hefted the stone in the palm of her hand into the air and carefully caught it. Without waiting for his reply, she held the stone before her in her right hand. She waved her left hand over it, fluttering her fingers in an elegant pantomime of sprinkling something upon the stone. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"It needed just a wee touch of magic, but I think it is ready. Now, watch carefully or you may miss it."

Erik concentrated on keeping his eyes on the stone, as he was familiar with the concepts of misdirection and sleight of hand. Slowly, Christine began to rock her hand back and forth, causing the stone to begin an awkward roll across the palm of her hand. The woman, deciding the stone had sufficient momentum, allowed it to roll over the heel of her palm, along the inside of her wrist and down the inside of her forearm. As soon as the stone met the bent, inside crook of her elbow, she quickly straightened her arm, which seemed to catapult the stone into the air. Erik looked up and then back at Christine, but the stone was nowhere in sight.

"How …." The man stammered in his astonishment.

The woman before him flashed him a look of smug satisfaction.

"A true magician never tells their secrets. It ruins the magic. Now, let me see if I can find where that obsidian went. She patted her pockets and muttered.

"No, not there."

She looked about on the floor.

"No, not there either."

She looked up and lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

"Guess not. Not even I can defy the law of gravity for this length of time."

Finally, she brought her eyes to Erik. Her eyes raked over him from head to toe. She smirked naughtily.

"Monsieur Destler, I do believe your trousers appear over-burdened. I am not causing you any undue distress, am I?"

Her voice turned low and velvety smooth, almost a purr, which caused the hairs to stand on the back of Erik's neck. Running her tongue along her bottom lip, Christine's hand darted out. Before Erik could give voice to his protest, her deft fingers dipped to his trousers and pulled the stone from the front of them. A shudder passed through the man's body. His voice trembled.

"Oh, Christine! You should not entice me so! You play at being the tantalizing temptress, but I do not believe you truly realize what you do. Please! Woman, do you truly understand the fire with which you so casually play?"

She did not answer him. Christine simply continued to smirk at the man for a moment then held out her hand to him. He stared at her hand and wondered when she had replaced the black gloves that once again encased her dexterous digits. The man placed his large hand in the woman's small one and she led him from the chapel.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

She led him swiftly through the halls and corridors of the dimly lit opera house. Their path seemed to lead them higher and higher. As they passed a rack of costumes, Christine paused and released Erik's hand. She selected two heavy, fur-lined, winter cloaks and indicated that Erik should do the same. When he made no move towards the rack, she groaned.

"Come, Erik. We are only borrowing them! It is very cold on the roof. Believe me; you will thank me for it later."

Hastily pulling two larger cloaks from the rack, he hurried after the shadowy form moving soundlessly ahead of him.

"Why are we going to the roof? Surely, there must be someplace warmer we could go?"

Erik peered into the shadows, as he strained to catch a glimpse of Christine who had disappeared from view. And, then her voice surrounded him.

"Surely? Warmer? Yes, of a certainty, there are other places, but none of them is for me, Erik. The roof is my only refuge. The place I seek for peaceful solitude. It is the only place of light where I feel welcome. And, the only place no one will interrupt us at this time of night. Please? Come with me, Erik."

Her icy demeanor thawed and the man caught a glimpse of the warm, passionate woman he had held in his arms at the park that afternoon.

"Of course I will come, Christine. I can deny you nothing."

And the two continued their journey in silence.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Once the two had comfortably ensconced themselves in the nook beneath Apollo's lyre, Erik fought down his rising desire to take Christine in his arms and make her completely his.

"_I feel so strange, so alive and so wild. She instills in me such passion, as I never thought to experience. She is such a confusing mix of vixen and virgin. I cannot fathom where the truth lies, although I am certain that it most likely lies more towards virgin. She tears off my mask of civility without any effort, leaving me trembling in frustration. I know that she does not purposefully do this to me for I feel that I have the same effect on her."_

The man's thoughts ground quickly to a halt by the woman's quiet words.

"Erik, something happened to me this evening. Something that, if someone else told me of this, I would not believe it."

She lifted her hand and seemingly pulled the piece of obsidian from the thin air.

"This stone is the only thing that gives me hope. That allows me to believe that my sanity has not abandoned me. After we parted company, I felt most restless and knew it would be a fool's quest to attempt retiring to my bed for the night. I felt a deep need to visit the chapel. I needed to say a prayer for my father and I hoped to see my angel once more. I went to the chapel and prayed, but the angel was not there. I saw a flash of light and then I think I remember the stained glass window opened. It opened without me throwing the switch and I felt an overwhelming curiosity, so I entered the hidden corridor. There was music, which led me through the bowels of the opera house and into the caverns beneath. There is a lake under the opera house. Did you know that? I heard rumors, but I can tell you now, the rumors are true. I have seen it with my own eyes. This piece of obsidian lay along the shore of the lake. And, all the while, there was someone playing a violin. The sound of it was heartbreakingly beautiful and hauntingly familiar. There was a mist on that vast glassy lake. I could not find a way around and stamped my foot in a fit of childish pique. Unfortunately, for my foot, the obsidian happened to be directly beneath it. It hurt and I must have made a noise for the music ceased. I heard someone rowing a boat towards me and I hid around a bend in the path. Out of the mist, I saw a boat and in the boat, there was a shadowy figure. That dark shape was a man. A man that I know. It was my father."

"Christine, your father is …."

The man began to interrupt, but was in turn shushed by the woman.

"I am well aware of the fact that my papa is dead, Erik. Do you understand now why I fear for my sanity? Believe me, I am fully well aware of how this sounds but that does not make it any less true."

With a practiced flick of her wrist, she threw the piece of stone into the side of a roof vent. The blade-like rock easily sliced through the metal and stopped, impaled halfway through the vent. She sighed and passed her hand across her face.

"Erik?"

His attention had drawn away from Christine to focus on the stone, but her call brought him back to her. His eyes met hers.

"Yes, Christine?"

"You loved your mother very much. Is that not so?"

"Of course, I did and still do. What has that to do with anything?"

"You would know her voice, the touch of her hand, her scent. You would know her, even if you were in a darkened room and could not see her. Would you not?"

"I most certainly would and I can say that without hesitation or reservation."

"Erik, I am just as certain of my ability to recognize my papa. The man I met this evening was truly my papa as a young man, but I recognized him all the same. Before he died, he promised to send the Angel of Music to me. I have waited and waited for the angel to come, but until last night, I waited in vain. Last night, the angel showed me your face in the stained glass. That is the reason I fainted when we first met. After all this time, my papa kept his promise. He sent you to me. When we spoke, he told me that he could not fulfill his pledge to me until now because the Angel of Music did not exist. The angel is real now because my papa has become the angel. He had exchanged his immortal human soul for that of an angel, so he could honor his oath to me. He wanted to let me know that. Also, he wanted to assure me that you are indeed the fulfillment of his word. He faded away after making me promise two things. Alone in the dark, deep under the opera house, I thought I would wander lost there until death took me. The last thing I remember was crying. I must have cried myself to sleep for the next thing I remember is waking to find I was in the chapel with you."

The man stroked the woman's hair, drinking in the delicious scent of her curls as he placed light kisses about her head and face.

"I believe you, Christine."

She turned, tilted her head up to look into his eyes and read the truth of his words there. Erik noticed an old, white scar on the edge of her chin and ran his finger over it.

"What is this?"

She frowned.

"My first encounter with the cruelties of man."

He sat up and pushed her upright as well.

"What do you mean?"

"When I was four years old, my papa took me to the park to play. I was a very bold child and wandered away from papa. I remember there were two older boys, almost young men, playing on swings and I sat nearby watching them. They took note of me and asked if I would like to use one of the swings. I eagerly accepted the swing and their subsequent offer to push me. I am a small person and as a child, I was quite small for my age. They began to push me higher and higher. Then faster and faster. I became dizzy and frightened. I tried to hold on to the swing for dear life, but my hands became sweaty and I lost my grip. I know with my adult mind that I went flying. However, in my mind's eye, the world around me moved and I hung suspended motionless in the air. The last thing I remember was the ground rising up to smash into my face. Unfortunately, the point where my chin impacted was the same place a piece of glass lay on the ground. The result was the glass driving into my chin and leaving me with a wound that dripped a considerable amount of blood. The fall left me stunned and most likely crying. The young men ran away, leaving me to fend for myself. I seem to remember someone else though …."

Erik interrupted her reverie.

"A boy of 13 came to your rescue. He scooped you up into his arms and sang to you to calm you. Then, he brought you back to your father."

Her wary eyes darkened.

"Yes, he sang to me. He sang _"All the Pretty Little Ponies."_ He comforted me and then my father was there again. How did you know?" She whispered.

He smiled.

"That boy was me."

* * *

**Author's Note: My life has been in a state of turmoil lately and my only refuge has been writing. I would like to let all of you know that your reviews have been the high point of my life lately and I send all of you my sincerest thanks for taking time to write them. I really do enjoy reading them and appreciate all of your kind thoughts. Hope you liked this chapter! ****--ny

* * *

**


	24. More Sweetly than our Rhyme

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: **I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**Ode on a Grecian Urn**_

_**Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness!  
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,  
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express  
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:  
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape  
Of deities or mortals, or of both,  
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?  
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?  
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?  
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?**_

_**Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard  
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;  
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,  
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:  
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave  
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;  
Bold Lover, never, never, canst thou kiss,  
Though winning near the goal – yet, do not grieve;  
She cannot fade, though thou have not thy bliss,  
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!**_

_**Ah, happy, happy, boughs! That cannot shed  
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;  
And, happy melodist, unwearied,  
For ever piping songs for ever new;  
More happy love! More happy, happy love!  
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,  
For ever panting and for ever young;  
All breathing human passion far above,  
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,  
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.**_

_**Who are these coming to the sacrifice?  
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,  
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,  
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?  
What little town by river or sea-shore,  
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,  
Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn?  
And, little town, thy streets for evermore  
Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell  
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.**_

_**O! Attic shape! Fair attitude! With brede  
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,  
With forest branches and the trodden weed;  
Thou, silent form! Dost tease us out of thought  
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!  
When old age shall this generation waste,  
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe  
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,  
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty – that is all  
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'**_

_**John Keats (1795–1821)**_

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four – More Sweetly than our Rhyme**

Erik interrupted her reverie.

"A boy of 13 came to your rescue. He scooped you up into his arms and sang to you to calm you. Then, he brought you back to your father."

Her wary eyes darkened.

"Yes, he sang to me. He sang _"All the Pretty Little Ponies."_ He comforted me and then my father was there again. How did you know?" She whispered.

He smiled.

"That boy was me."

Christine's reaction to Erik's words caused his heart to drop into the pit of his stomach. She leapt to her feet and Erik silently swore that she looked ready to flee from him, but he would have none of it. He swiftly rose and took a gentle hold on her arm.

"I need to tell you something. Please stay."

He released her arm and waited for her response. Her eyes darted about the roof, absorbing every detail around them, everything on the roof and studiously avoiding his eyes. And, still he stood unmoving and waited patiently.

"_She is worth the wait."_

He felt a surge of triumph rush through his being as she finally brought her eyes to meet his own. She nodded and returned to sit in their cloak-lined burrow. She weakly smiled up at him.

"Very well, Erik. I am listening. What is it you need to say?"

He joined her to huddle with her in the cloaks.

"_It is going to snow any day now. Oh, stop it! Just tell her already! Coward!"_

"Christine, I do believe in my inexperience that I have neglected something, something very important."

He took her left hand in both of his and rubbed his thumb over the kid leather glove, which covered his ring on her finger. He looked deeply into her eyes and allowed all of the love he felt for her to shine through his eyes.

"Christine Daae, I love you."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

She sat before the fire, which she lit against the coldness of the night and the frost on her heart. In her hand, she held a cup of tea, which had gone cold long ago.

"_Where could they be? Surely, if he found her, he would bring her back here. He would not …. Then, on the other hand, with the mood he was in when he first arrived …."_

She shook her head and sighed.

"It appears that I am in for a very long and extremely worrisome night. Perhaps, now would be a good time to speak with Megan about her passions."

The woman sighed and rose from her chair.

"I believe I need to fortify myself for this night. I think I will make myself some coffee first."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

If he had given the matter any serious consideration, Erik probably would have admitted to himself that he did not believe his declaration would cause Christine to feel any differently. His thoughts most likely following along the lines of something like, after all I asked her to marry me. I would not have proposed to her if I did not love her, but in truth, women are a mass of contradicting emotions. His last coherent thought before he lost himself for a time in her heated kisses and limbs being.

"_Raoul was correct. She did need to hear me say this."_

When they at last broke their kiss in order to catch their breath, Erik silently thanked God that it was such a cold night. Otherwise, he would have lost the battle to safeguard Christine's virtue and honor his promise to Madame Giry. He also was truly grateful that Christine wore breeches as that provided her with an additional safeguard against his barely contained need.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Christine's mind whirled in the aftermath of Erik's declaration of love.

"_He loves me! He does! He does! He truly does! Oh, thank you God! Thank you!"_

As the kisses she shared with Erik heated in intensity, her mind spiraled into a world consisting solely of sensation. She reveled in the delight his touch caused both her body and her mind. She knew the sweet meaning of ecstasy in the sound of each intake of his breath, in the feel of the warm shivers of his breath upon her cheek caused her. She at last understood the enchantment that comes from touching someone you love, which she only heretofore read about in romance novels. After spending the majority of her life feeling reviled, she at long last knew contentment.

"_And, we still have not crossed the point of no return. On our wedding night, I wonder what mysteries we shall explore. What bliss do we yet have to know? Oh! How I long for we two to be as one."_

It was at that moment she realized that the part of her she knew to be the opera ghost began to die. And, her heart rejoiced at this awareness for never until this moment had she so fervently desired to see something die as she did the opera ghost.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The young man paced before his cold fireplace. His mind relentless in its self-recrimination. Raoul knew what he wanted, but felt powerless to obtain it.

"_No one will accept our marriage. The nightingale cannot love the rose. And yet, I do. I love her! I must decide. Do I love Meg enough to forfeit my title and inheritance? Yes, I do. If I am forced to forsake my inheritance, how shall I support a wife and, someday, God willing, children? If only Phillipe were married then I would not feel such a responsibility to marry well and be able to present heirs to my parents. Damn him! He can have his flings, yet, I cannot! Why is it that my parents hound me to marry? They do not hound Phillipe as they do me. Can I spend the rest of my life in a marriage to someone I do not love when I have found the one person I will love for the rest of my life? No! Not only can I not do this, I will not do it! Meg is a good person. I know her to be honest and intelligent. She is witty and fun. She is beautiful and wonderful. And, I swear by all that is holy, I shall make her my wife. Come what may, we shall wed and consequences be damned!"_

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Ragged breathing was the only audible sound floating on the cold night breeze. The man and woman fought to bring their breathing under control, as they simply held one another, marveling in the perfection of the moment. As silence reigned once more, Erik spoke quietly his lips pressed softly against the top of Christine's mass of curls.

"I am sorry, ma chère. I think it best if I escort you to your home. When I last left Madame Giry, she was most concerned over your disappearance and I assured her that I would return you to her post haste. I fear I allowed you to sidetrack me, but I cannot in good conscience allow the poor woman to fret over you a moment longer. Come, my dear. Let us return."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The sudden warmth of a body pressed along side hers drew Meg from her turbulent slumber. Alarm coursed through her mind, until she recognized the wild mass of curls, which assaulted her nose.

"Christine!" She hissed. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Meg! I am sorry that I awoke you, but I simply had to tell someone or I felt as if I would burst!"

The young woman yawned widely then frowned as she quickly sat up in the bed.

"Is something wrong, Christine? Are you all right?"

She brushed her straight, blonde hair from her eyes and peered into the darkness in an attempt to see her friend's face. Meg felt relieved and annoyed at the soft chuckle she heard in response.

"What?"

"Oh, Meg! He loves me! I know he does because he told me so." She spoke quietly then almost as if, she were talking to herself she continued. "Oh, Erik! You love me and I love you too! And, I always will."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik sighed as he slid back into the cold bedclothes and pulled them tightly around his body.

"_Well, I told her and she did not run away from me. I can only hope that someday she will tell me how she feels. I am so looking forward to our dinner engagement tomorrow, no, tonight."_

He sighed once more.

"_Oh, Christine! I love you!"_

* * *

**Author's Note: I am truly humbled by both the number of reviews and the positive nature of the reviews I am receiving. I believe that I have been diligent in responding to all of you, but fear that one or two of you may have fallen through the cracks of my mental faculties. I would, therefore, like to thank ALL of you for your wonderful reviews! I hope that everyone enjoyed this peaceful and somewhat fluffy chapter. --ny

* * *

**


	25. The Golden Road to Samarkand

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**The Golden Road to Samarkand**_

_**HASSAN: **__**  
**__**Sweet to ride forth at evening from the wells, **__**  
**__**When shadows pass gigantic on the sand, **__**  
**__**And softly through the silence beat the bells **__**  
**__**Along the Golden Road to Samarkand.**_

_**ISHAK: **__**  
**__**We travel not for trafficking alone; **__**  
**__**By hotter winds, our fiery hearts are fanned: **__**  
**__**For lust of knowing what should not be known **__**  
**__**We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.**_

_**MASTER OF THE CARAVAN: **__**  
**__**Open the gate, O watchman of the night!**_

_**THE WATCHMAN: **__**  
**__**Ho, travelers, I open. For what land **__**  
**__**Leave you the dim-moon city of delight?**_

_**MERCHANTS: **__**  
**__**(with a shout) **__**  
**__**We take the Golden Road to Samarkand!**_

_**(The Caravan passes through the gate.)**_

_**THE WATCHMAN: **__**  
**__**(consoling the women) **__**  
**__**What would ye, ladies? It was ever thus. **__**  
**__**Men are unwise and curiously planned.**_

_**A WOMAN: **__**  
**__**They have their dreams, and do not think of us.**_

_**VOICES OF THE CARAVAN: **__**  
**__**(in the distance singing) **__**  
**__**We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.**_

_**James Elroy Flecker**_

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five – The Golden Road to Samarkand**

Erik sighed as he slid back into the cold bedclothes and pulled them tightly around his body.

"_Well, I told her and she did not run away from me. I can only hope that someday she will tell me how she feels. I am so looking forward to our dinner engagement tomorrow, no, tonight."_

He sighed once more.

"_Oh, Christine! I love you!"_

His mind raced in turmoil as he attempted to sort through the events of the last 30 hours. He could scarcely believe that in that short amount of time, he literally, met the woman of his dreams and asked her to be his wife. His thoughts even more confounded by the fact she accepted his proposal.

"_Nay, she did not simply accept my proposal, she **happily** accepted my proposal. And, the most incredible thing, she accepted my face. She did not stare, flinch or turn away in disgust from me. She allowed me to kiss her and she returned my kisses with glad enthusiasm. Do I dare think it? Yes! She kissed and caressed me with real passion. She wants me, just as I want her. It is amazing!"_

Slowly, a plan began to take shape and he smiled.

"_This will take a bit of doing, but I do believe it will work. In the morning, I shall need to call in some favors. Very well, now, what do I need? A carriage, flowers, music …."_

At length, he relaxed, closed his eyes and fell asleep with a satisfied smile curling his lips.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Christine awoke. She smiled and stretched, then suddenly frowned and gasped. She felt a body next to her in her bed. Her eyes flew open, only to find Meg sleeping peacefully beside her.

"_Thank God! For a moment, I thought it was …."_

Her thought cut short as Meg's eyes fluttered open and the girl squealed with excitement.

"Oh, Christine! I did not dream it! You really did come in last night and tell me of Monsieur Destler's declaration of love. You truly did! Oh, everything is so perfect for you. I wish such a perfect solution would present itself for Raoul and me …."

Her eyes became sad and distant as her words trailed away into silence.

"I wish …."

Christine interrupted her friend.

"Meg, you must have faith. All will be well between you and Raoul. I just know it. You must believe in love and it will not forsake you."

"I hope you are right. Maman spoke with me last night. She told me that she trusts me, but she also knows that sometimes passion carries even the most serious minded persons into forgetfulness. She knows that Raoul and I have not crossed over the boundaries of propriety. Her words were soft and quiet. I can almost believe that she knows how Raoul and I feel for one another as she told me that she would not forbid me from seeing him. Is that not wonderful?"

The petite ballerina smiled at her friend.

"That is indeed wonderful, Meg. At least, now if Raoul pays you a visit this morning you shall not need to worry about your maman chasing him from the opera house while threatening him with her cane."

The two girls hugged one another tightly and erupted into fits of uncontrolled giggles at the thought of Meg's dignified maman running after Raoul while brandishing her cane at him.

"I simply cannot picture a more frighteningly funny sight." Meg moaned at last.

"No. I cannot either." Christine gasped in between bouts of laughter. "Poor Raoul! To be undone by a ballet mistress wielding a cane."

"Well, I would like to believe that if he is undone by anyone, it would be me that caused his undoing." Meg smirked.

"Oh, Meg! You are so wicked!" Christine huffed. "But, enough of this foolishness! We must hurry and dress or you shall be late for practice and I shall be late in reporting to your maman and Monsieur Reyer. I do believe today is bound to be a long day as I am most impatient for the evening to arrive, so I may once again enjoy Erik's company."

Christine sighed wistfully and Meg rolled her eyes at her friend's dreamy expression.

"Oh, Christine! You have fallen hard for Monsieur Destler. I never thought to see the day, but you are smitten and it is wondrous to behold."

The dark haired beauty made no reply, but jumped from Meg's bed. Without a backward glance, she dashed out the door and ran to her bedroom to prepare for the day.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The day dragged by at a painfully slow pace for the young woman. As a new opera was in the production stage, Madame Giry and Monsieur Reyer both needed her to run errands and arrange paperwork for them.

"_At least I am being kept busy. I would have been far worse if I had nothing to keep me occupied today."_

The one highlight of her day was watching Meg and Raoul reunite. Christine struggled not to laugh hysterically at the normally dapper Raoul as he awkwardly attempted to regain Madame's favor. Christine secretly believed that Madame had already decided that Raoul's intentions towards Meg were honorable, but Madame simply wished to make the young Vicomte squirm. In Christine's opinion, Madame succeeded admirably. After the two stammered and stuttered for a quarter of an hour, Madame finally relented and allowed Meg to depart the opera house to accompany Raoul for luncheon.

Christine spent her meal break in the second cellar eating and working on crafting the obsidian into a usable blade. She had found a large, thick piece of leather dyed an unusual shade of turquoise. After removing a few misshapen nodules from the hilt, She thoroughly soaked the leather in water then began cutting the material into long, quarter inch strips, which she then returned to the water. Once she decided she had enough strips to create the hilt, she began to wind the leather tightly about the stone. She occasionally stopped and hefted the homemade knife in her hand and gripped the newly formed hilt in her hand. Once she arrived at a comfortable thickness for her hand's grip, she bound the final strip of leather and tucked the knot beneath the neighboring strips of material.

"_Well, that's enough for today. Feels fairly good in the palm of my hand and looks fairly nice. Better get back to work!"_

She sighed, returned the stone to the top drawer of her dresser in her bedroom and returned to help Monsieur Reyer sort through copies of the latest opera's libretto.

At four o'clock, Madame Giry dismissed her for the day and allowed Christine to begin her preparations for her dinner engagement with Erik. Christine scoured the costume racks for a gown suitable to wear that evening and finally found a lovely silk and satin gown in a dusty rose and gold as well as an exquisite black fur opera dolman. After almost giving up hope, she found a pair of light gold, lace-edged, opera-length gloves, a sensible pair of black, evening boots and a lovely cameo and pearl choker. Carrying her treasures to her room, Christine began to hum happily to herself in blissful anticipation of seeing Erik once again.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Promptly at seven o'clock, there was a knock on the door of the Giry residence. Madame swiftly made her way to the door and opened it to find, yet another facet of the man who was Erik Destler standing before her.

"_This man must be one of the most complicated persons I have ever met. Let me think, I met the distinguished opera patron, the passionate lover, the rather anxious and shy suitor and the alarmingly charming rogue. Now, here stands a man that embodies all of these and more. I do believe that Christine is a very fortunate young woman. She has found someone as complex as she herself is. I only hope that their moods compliment one another."_

"Please, you may enter, Monsieur Destler. Please have a seat on the settee and I will fetch Christine."

"Thank you, Madame."

She quickly made the short trip to Christine's bedroom and knocked on the door. A muffled reply came through the door and after a moment, Christine emerged. Antoinette's eyes widened in surprise as they took in the transformed young woman before her.

"_So, Monsieur is not the only one. It seems they have equally changed one another. I am very relieved that this change is for the better. She is positively glowing with happiness."_

Antoinette realized Christine waited for something and belatedly understood the girl awaited her approval. The older woman allowed her mouth to form the slightest hint of a smile.

"You look lovely. Child, wherever did you find this dress? It suits you perfectly. If I did not know any better, I would think it made just for you. Turn about and I shall check your stays."

Christine whirled about and held onto the door jamb.

"I found it in the costume racks, although I am not certain of the opera to which it belongs. I had Meg help me dress, Madame. Do you think Er … Monsieur Destler will approve?"

"_Child, he would have to be a eunuch …."_ Madame thought.

"He will most definitely approve. Now, let us not keep him waiting a moment longer. And, please be certain to comport yourself, as a lady should. Make your papa proud, Christine."

The young woman smiled, lifted her head proudly and walked towards the man awaiting her.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Dinner had been one of the nicest meals Christine had ever eaten. The restaurant, in her opinion, was perfect. Not ostentatious or overly crowded, the food was delicious and the atmosphere relaxed. The couple's conversation began with a polite discussion of the weather and then flitted from topic to topic like a hummingbird taking sips of nectar in search of the sweetest flower of all. The conversation lulled as they finished their dinner and stood to exit the restaurant. They waited arm-in-arm for their carriage in a comfortable silence. The coachman opened the door and Erik assisted Christine inside. As soon as the carriage lurched into motion, Erik leaned forward and captured Christine's hands in his. After pressing them to his lips, he raised his eyes to her curious ones.

"Marry me, Christine."

He smiled at the look of confusion gathering on her features and held up one of their joined hands.

"Marry me this night, Christine. I have made all of the arrangements, you need only give your consent and it will be done."

It took a moment for the woman to absorb his words and her eyes widened.

"Erik, we cannot marry tonight. Please, my papa told me of a saying, 'Marry in haste, repent at leisure.' I do not wish to ever feel remorse for marrying you."

He interrupted her, "Well, then, do not! Christine, if spending the rest of my life with you is a penance, then I will gladly atone for the time allotted me on this earth. Please! Ma chère, come away with me and let us marry this night. Let us not tarry a moment longer! I promise to make you the happiest woman ever to draw breath! Be my bride and allow me to worship at the temple of your beauty always. I love you, Christine. What needs be for us to wait?"

She stared long into his eyes and he saw them slowly warm to his impulsive idea. Thinking to add one last argument in favor of their marrying, Erik added.

"Besides, I wish to keep you an honest woman. I greatly fear the fire, which burns in me for you. I do not know how much longer I can resist your sweet siren song before I succumb and make your body one with mine."

Erik felt a tremor course through Christine's hands and he hoped he had not frightened her with his words. Instead, her reply came in unexpectedly husky tones.

"And, what makes you think that your loving me would cause me to become less than an honest woman, Monsieur? I learned long ago by observing the older chorus girls that most women use their favors as a means to an end, usually being one of financial gain. I could never do that. I shall only bestow my body on the man I love. Love is the only condition, which I require for me to succumb to a man. Yet, it cannot be just any love. It must be true love. If I succumb to true love, I would never be anything other than an honest woman."

She lowered her gaze to their joined hands.

"You fulfill this condition a hundredfold, Erik."

"Christine, what are you saying?"

A scarlet blush infused her cheeks, but she raised her eyes to meet his bravely.

"I am saying that I love you, Erik. And, if this is what you truly wish, I would be most honored to become your wife this night."

The man and woman stared at one another, each hypnotized by the intoxicating gaze of the other. The only sound the quiet rumble of the carriage wheels passing over the cobblestones of the street. At last, their gaze broke as the carriage hit a pothole, which jolted both Christine and Erik from their seats to land entangled with one another on the floor. The two scrambled to right themselves, both blushing furiously at their undignified positions. However, after a moment of floundering in the mass of fabric, which composed the train of Christine's dress, the two ceased their struggles. Their eyes locked on one another and they both erupted into gales of unfettered mirth.

People walking along the streets, stopped and stared in wonder at the carriage rolling past them. They were amazed at the heavenly sound of merriment issuing forth from the enclosed compartment. The musical laughter heard in the night so affected these unwitting strangers that they carried it with them always and found them forever changed by it. Quicker to laugh and with seemingly unending patience, they spread their wondrous contagion to all they met.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"You may kiss your bride."

* * *

**Author's Note:** **Surprise! Now, come on! We all know what an impatient man our Erik is. Did you expect him to wait? Well, it seems he has found love. Now, we can only hope that he finds music as well. **

**Secondly, I would like to make a request, I am a relative newcomer to this site and I am unclear on the meaning of some abbreviations I see here. Now, I know what E/C, POTO, R/C and E/OW mean. I believe I know what OOC (out of character?) means. However, I do not know what EOC means. Any assistance in this area would be greatly appreciated as well as any other "definitions" I may see on this site. Thank you for your bits of enlightenment! --ny**

* * *


	26. The Kiss of Consummation

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

**_The Kiss of Consummation_ **

_**Lo! Thou hast granted us for Thee a name,  
but never, Lord, shall there be a name for this  
the storm and sacrament of love's abyss;  
nor shall the mind conceive nor man's tongue frame  
nor Music in her farthest flight proclaim  
the tale of that intolerable bliss  
when breathless lips meet in the final kiss,  
and mouth on mouth melts to incarnate flame.**_

_**When, lest the astounding racks of bliss destroy  
the body with its ecstasy alive, —  
the maddened flesh grown infinite with joy,  
peace sends her Lethe to the reeling brain,  
ere the inexorable flame revive  
and Love that slew sound trumpets o'er the slain.**_

_**From "**__**Poetica Erotica"**__** by George Sterling – 1921**_

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six – The Kiss of Consummation**

"You may kiss your bride."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The day had been quite eventful, but Erik found it exhilarating to be taking charge of his existence. He felt that after years of waiting to begin his life, he was finally making it happen. He sank into the padded, high-back leather chair behind his desk and sighed. Allowing his eyes to scan around his office, he smiled at the thought of the last conversation he had before returning home. He had found Phillipe in his office near the Pont Neuf. Their conversation had been brief as Phillipe had been too stunned for much speech after Erik had revealed the purpose of his visit. However, Phillipe assured him that he could produce the needed paperwork and promised he would be at the cathedral with Cecile Sorelli, Raoul, Meg and Madame Giry at nine o'clock that night.

His smile grew larger as he allowed his eyes to drift to the flat rectangular box sitting on his desk. He removed the lid and allowed his hand to caress the delicate lace.

"_Yes, God and Christine willing, tonight my life begins at long last."_

The only hitch in the entire day had been his conversation with Raoul and Meg. The two had been late showing up at the restaurant and that had placed him in the awkward position of having to launch immediately into relating his plans for the evening, instead of making pleasant small talk with them for a short time. Initially, Raoul had balked attempting to caution Erik against his impulsive decision, but Meg had squashed Raoul's objections with five simple words, "Raoul, they are in love." After that, Raoul seemed to become just as enthusiastic as Meg did in assisting with the arrangements. Meg promised Erik that she would inform Madame Giry of his intentions as soon as she was certain he and Christine had left the opera house. She alleviated Erik's fear that Madame would strenuously object to the marriage by saying that if Christine agreed, her Maman would trust Christine's judgment.

That left one person for Erik to inform. He returned the lid to the box and rose from his chair then left his study.

"Elaine! Elaine!" He called out as he entered the foyer.

He knew that due to the acoustics of the entry hall, she would hear his voice no matter where in his home she was. He waited for her response. Just as he thought she might have gone out, he turned to see her enter the room.

"Oui, Monsieur?"

"I would like to speak with you for a moment, Elaine. In my study, if you do not mind."

He gestured to the door. The woman said nothing, but cocked an eyebrow at him causing him to laugh.

"Oh, Elaine, please? For once, I have some good news to tell you. Please, after you, Madame."

Following the older woman into the room, he swept past her and waved her to an armchair across from his desk. He returned to his chair and sat there in silence for a moment.

"Well, Erik. You certainly have the look of the cat that ate the canary. What exactly are you planning?"

"You are aware that I met a young woman and that we went on a picnic yesterday."

"Of course, Erik. I prepared and packed the basket myself. I take it that the outing went well."

"Extremely well. So well, that I paid her a rather unconventional visit last night. No! Do not look shocked, Elaine! Her guardian knew and nothing untoward occurred. However, upon my return here last night, I determined that the indeterminable wait of a long engagement was not for me. I am therefore going to ask Mademoiselle Daae to marry me tonight. I spent the day making all of the necessary arrangements and I need to ask you to make the final preparations. I need you to freshen the bed linens in my room. A delivery of flowers should arrive any time now and I would like you to see to arranging the flowers and place them in my bedroom. Also, I would appreciate it if you would use your womanly sensibilities and take any other measures you feel appropriate to ready my chambers for my wedding night."

The man's face reddened, but he continued.

"The contents of this box should be laid across the foot of my bed ... erm ... our bed, please."

The woman smiled a small, but genuine smile and nodded.

"All will be ready for you, Erik. May I add my congratulations?"

"You may, Elaine. Thank you. That is all."

The man pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and checked the time.

"Now, if you will excuse me. I need to bathe and dress for my dinner engagement this evening and, hopefully, for my wedding."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"But, Maman!"

"No! No! Megan Giry, how could you believe that I would consent to this? Have you taken leave of your senses? I cannot allow this! Gustave would be horrified. Christine cannot marry a man she met two days ago."

The slender blonde suddenly interrupted the older woman's rant.

"Maman, Christine does not need your consent. She is of an age to make her own decision in this matter without your approval. Erik and Christine love each other. I have never seen two people better suited and I know you see this too! They will marry tonight with or without your consent. Please do not ruin their happiness by making a scene! Christine has had more unhappiness in her life than any other person I have ever known. She is not a flighty girl. She knows her own mind and if she agrees to wed Erik tonight, it is because she loves him and wants to marry him. Please, Maman?"

The older woman's shoulders sagged in defeat and she rubbed at her temple.

"Megan, you do realize that if it were anyone other than Christine I would not support this action. Say, if it were you who wished to marry at a moment's notice, I would never allow it. And, I do not give a sou for how old you are. However, if Christine grants his suit, I will support her choice and attend the ceremony."

"Oh, thank you, maman. Erik said a carriage shall arrive at nine o'clock to take us to the cathedral."

"Cathedral? Where exactly is the wedding?"

"At Notre-Dame de Paris."

"Well, I will give Monsieur Destler credit. When he wants to do something, he does not go by half measures."

The stunned woman shook her head in slow wonderment and looked up as she whispered.

"Gustave, your little girl is getting married tonight in the Cathedral Notre-Dame de Paris."

She allowed her emotionless mask to settle across her features before turning once more to her daughter.

"Come, Megan. I need to fetch something Christine may need tonight. Then, you and I must dress for the ceremony. We must hurry for we do not have much time!"

Meg smiled, lifted her eyes to the heavens and mouthed the words, "Thank you." The lithe blonde then hurried after her mother.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Raoul burst into his brother's office and flung himself into an armchair.

"So, I suppose he has been here and gone."

Phillipe took in the slightly disheveled appearance of his younger brother and smirked.

"So, when did he tell you?"

The younger man groaned and leaned forward, placing his head in his hands.

"Oh, come now, Raoul! This is not the end of the world. One would think you would be delighted for both of them. Why does this marriage cause you so much distress?"

The older man got up from his chair, walked around his desk to stand next to his brother. He placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

"Christine is a good girl and Erik is an honorable man. They are both friends of yours. He seems to be wildly in love. I have not seen Christine, but if she returns his affections, I fail to see what the problem is."

Raoul shook his head and rubbed his eyes, then lowering his hands, he whispered.

"It just seems that it is happening much too quickly."

"Raoul, how long did it take you to realize you were in love with Mademoiselle Giry?"

Without looking up, the man replied.

"I knew the first moment I lay eyes on her."

"Well then, I repeat, I fail to see what the problem is. Unless …."

The seated man's head snapped up to gaze sharply at the older man.

"Unless, what?"

A gentle smile graced Phillipe's mouth and he gave his brother a sympathetic look.

"Unless, you are jealous."

"What? Jealous? Why would I be jealous of Erik and Christine? No. I am simply concerned that they rush into a marriage that they are not properly prepared to enter."

"Are you certain, Raoul? Look deep into your heart. Are you not the least bit jealous that Erik can undertake this endeavor without the least bit of social censure? While you share a much more restricted courtship with Mademoiselle Giry that has an outcome that is much less certain. Do not blight this happy occasion for selfish reasons, Raoul. You, more than anyone else, knows that Erik never expected to marry. How can you be anything less than ecstatic for him? Please, Raoul! Be happy for him. Do not ruin your friendship over something that is not Erik's fault. Let Erik and Christine have their moment tonight. I make this promise to you. I will do everything in my power to convince mother and father to allow your marriage to Mademoiselle Giry. Do not despair, Raoul. Do you think I shall allow my baby brother to be miserable?"

He smirked and clapped the younger man on the back. Raoul sat motionless, staring blankly at his hands lying on his lap.

"I am jealous! My God, what a selfish bastard I am! Since when did you become so insightful, Phillipe? Maman always said that I was the sensitive one, but it seems she was incorrect in her assessment of our characters."

"Oh, nonsense! Have no fear, little brother! On the morrow, I shall return to my normal insensitive, selfish ways and your reputation shall be none the worse for wear."

He pulled the younger man to his feet and gave him a hearty hug.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"You may kiss your bride … then, I shall introduce you to your guests as Monsieur and Madame Erik Destler. That completes the ceremony. The only thing we need to do now is sign the license. I prefer to do that before the wedding as it may be overlooked afterwards."

The small, frail, gray-haired man spoke softly to the couple standing before him.

"_I am so happy for Erik. Madeleine, your little boy is getting married. Thank God!"_

"Well, let us retire to my office and we shall take care of the formalities. Then, Mademoiselle Daae, I believe your guardian wishes to see you in the bridal room."

"Thank you for everything, Père Anton."

"Erik, you have nothing for which you need thank me. This is a joyous occasion for me as well."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik stood before the altar with Raoul and Phillipe on one side and Père Anton on the other. He visibly started when the great pipe organ began to play. Phillipe placed a calming hand on his arm and Raoul beamed as Meg walked down the aisle holding a bouquet of red roses. Erik swallowed and cleared his throat. Meg winked at the men and took her place before the altar. The music swelled and then Erik saw and heard no more as his bride began her walk up the aisle. Erik blinked for he almost thought a man escorted Christine. A man strangely familiar, yet truly unknown to him.

"_It must be Christine's Angel of Music."_ He thought distractedly.

Christine was dressed in a gown of brilliant white lace and her head covered with a film of sheer tulle. She carried a bouquet of red and white roses and white star jasmine. As she neared the altar, Erik looked into her eyes and their gaze locked. Erik was grateful that he did not need say more than 'I do' to the priest's questions as he knew he was incapable of anything more. They exchanged rings. After what seemed to Erik's entranced mind as an eternity, he heard the words he had long awaited.

"You may kiss your bride."

With trembling hands, he lifted the veil from Christine's face. He pulled her close to him and pressed her body into his. She lifted her face to him and he took the lips she offered.

And, thusly passed the opera ghost into oblivion.

* * *

**Author's Note: Isn't it amazing what money and friends in the right places can accomplish? I must say, though, that I am rather disappointed at the sudden decrease in reviews. I hope that it is the result of the holiday weekend and not from you (my reader's) disappointment with the story. Please review and boost your humble Authoress's fragile ego. The more reviews a chapter receives, the more diligently I endeavor to create a pleasing follow-up chapter. I really do require an extra dose of inspiration for the next chapter as it details Erik and Christine's wedding night. Remember, the more reviews I receive, the fluffier the wedding night! (Nudge, nudge! Wink, wink! Grin, grin! Say no more, say no more, say no more!!!) --ny

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**


	27. Tread Softly, My Love

**The Perfect Solution **

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

* * *

**Dedication: I dedicate this chapter to Anne Burnside, Darkest Aminta, DonJuanTriumphs, Erik'sBelleNoire, GerrysJackie, JustBFree, Lady Rosesong, poetzproblem, Wandering Child and Waytoointoerik -- each and every one of you inspire me. You write scenes of love and passion in such a way that titillates, entices, captivates and enchants me. Your excellence spurs me ever onwards in my humble attempts to create a love scene worthy of Erik and Christine's passion ... Thank you!!! --ny **

* * *

**This chapter contains sexually explicit material!  
It is NOT intended for persons under 18 years of age.  
I warned you!  
The explicit section is marked with "XXX" preceding and following the material.  
(But …. Hey, it's okay! Erik and Christine are married now!) **

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.**

* * *

**

_**He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven**_

_**Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,  
Enwrought with golden and silver light,  
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths  
Of night and light and the half-light, **_

_**I would spread the cloths under your feet:  
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;  
I have spread my dreams under your feet;  
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.**_

_**William Butler Yeats**_

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Tread Softly, My Love**

"You may kiss your bride."

With trembling hands, he lifted the veil from Christine's face. He pulled her close to him and pressed her body into his. She lifted her face to him and he took the lips she offered.

And, thusly passed the opera ghost into oblivion.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

In stark contrast to the sublime serenity of the wedding, the ceremony's aftermath skirted dangerously along and sometimes crossed into the realm of frenzied chaos. Swept apart by the small, but forceful wave of friends and family, Christine and Erik faced a barrage of tears, kisses, hugs, laughter, slaps on the back and heartfelt wishes of congratulations. When Erik at last caught Christine's eye, he noticed the look of peaceful bliss in her eyes was gone and in its place, she wore the look of a wild animal caught in a trap.

"_No! This simply will not do! I will not have her remember this night with anything other than bliss. I am her husband and she is my wife. We must take care to one another. She is a solitary being, perhaps if …."_

His mind raced for a moment and his brow furrowed in thought then lifted as a plan took shape in his mind.

"_Of course! All I have to do is …."_

"Attention! May I have everyone's attention?"

Erik held out his hand to Christine and she gratefully made her way to him. She took hold of his hand, the strength of her grip surprising him with its ferocity. He almost allowed his eyes to drift closed as he felt her body press against his, her warmth melding perfectly with his own. He snapped his eyes open and focused his attention on the group of people now waiting to hear what he wanted to say to them.

"My wife and I thank you for sharing the happiest moment of our lives, well, thus far anyway. If you will return to the carriage, it will transport you to our home. We would like to continue our celebration there as well as offer all of you some refreshments. So, will you honor my bride and me by accepting our invitation?"

A chorus of assents assaulted their ears as the press of people swept from the vestibule, through the doors, onto the street and into the awaiting carriages.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Would you grant me the honor of allowing me to assist your entry into the carriage, Madame Destler?"

Christine felt a thrill run through her body as the velvety smoothness of her husband's voice caressed her ears.

"_His voice alone makes me burn and tingle. I cannot imagine how the combined sound of his voice and the touch of his hands will make me feel. Surely, anything that exhilarating must be sinful! And, if this is sin then I am most definitely and gladly going to hell!"_

She stifled the giggle, disguising it as a clearing of her throat. Erik cocked his head, awaiting her reply. She blushed and held out her hand to him.

"Oui, Monsieur."

The pair settled next to one another on the seat, one unconsciously leaning into the other. Erik fingered Christine's gown.

"Madame, might I inquire as to the origin of this gown? It is magnificent! You are a stunning vision of loveliness!"

Christine's eyes searched her spouse's face with surprise and smirked.

"Madame Giry brought it to the cathedral. This is my mother's wedding gown. I must admit I was most concerned over her reaction to our nuptials, but the simple fact of her bringing me this dress, allays all of my fears. She approves and so, without any doubts whatsoever do I."

"Your mother's dress? But, it fits you perfectly … are you … well, I mean to say, I did not realize that you resemble your mother that closely." He stammered.

"I do not. In looks, I take after my father. My mother was taller, her shape more voluptuous than mine. However, I am most fortunate in that I reside in an opera house that employs a staff of seamstresses. Madame brought the gown to her friend, Chloe Arneau. She is a rather talented and quick seamstress. She altered the fit of the dress, updated the bustle and train and added these seed pearls on the bodice. A nice touch, do you not think so, Erik?"

Her voice almost purred the question and her hand ran suggestively over her bodice. She looked into his eyes and continued.

"Why do you make me feel so wanton? I hardly know myself any longer. Your love has changed me into a brazen seductress, Erik! And, I am glad of it, and yet, at the same time, I worry for I fear my inexperience will disappoint you …."

He swiftly cut off her words.

"Ma chèri, you could never disappoint me and I will confess I am just as inexperienced as you. Tonight, we will teach each other how to pleasure one another. We shall explore the joys of the flesh as one. I do love you so, ma chèri."

In response to his passionate declaration, she shivered and chuckled as she felt the gooseflesh prickle the tiny hairs on her arms. He grinned and took her into his arms in an embrace made awkward only by the clothing they wore, not by the joy in their hearts. The two remained silent and blissfully entwined for the remainder of their ride home.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

She stood in the shadows of the ballroom with her arms folded across her thin chest. Her normally severe features softened by the look of gentle happiness she wore. Elaine had served Erik Destler for seven years and she had never seen the man so at ease among people. She continued her appraisal of the man who was her employer and her friend and realized she had never seen him wear such a genuine smile before now.

"_This is truly a miracle. He is happy. Really and truly happy. And, he is in love. I am relieved that Madame … Christine is such a nice young lady. Yes, this marriage is a blessed event. I am unsure why I feel as I do, but they seem to complete one another somehow."_

She started as her train of thought suddenly had another female voice interrupting it.

"You care for him, do you not?"

She turned to the sound of the voice and looked into eyes of steely blue-gray, eyes that seemed made for coldness rather than the warmth that now suffused them.

"Yes, I do. He is as a son to me, although if you were to tell him I said this, I would deny it with my dying breath."

The two women smirked.

"I am Antoinette Giry, Christine's guardian. And, you are?"

"I am Elaine Mallery, Monsieur Destler's housekeeper. It is a pleasure to meet you. May I say that Christine is a lovely girl? You must be very proud."

"Yes," she nodded with only the slightest hint of sadness in her eyes, "I only wish that her father could have been here. He would be so pleased to know she has found such a good man."

"Her father rests with the angels? Ahhh … I wondered at the sadness buried deep in her eyes. That explains it. She wishes him here this night. Well, it seems that neither of them have had an easy life. Let us hope that their union will allow them to heal one another's hurts and they will have a life of true happiness."

Madame Giry lifted her chin, her eyes softened.

"I do believe they have a guardian angel standing watch over them now. We may, at long last set our worries free. They are our charges no longer. Our children are grown."

The two women smiled and nodded as their eyes caressed the newlyweds with glances full of maternal love.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Bonne nuit!"

The words rang out in a ragged chorus as the small group of well-wishers entered the carriage. Just before he entered the carriage, Phillipe turned to Erik and winked.

"Do not forget, Erik."

"I shall not forget, Phillipe. I shall never forget. Thank you!"

Christine, wrapped within the safe circle of her husband's arms, turned to him.

"And, just what is it that you shall not forget?" She arched a speculative eyebrow at him.

He smiled lovingly at her and murmured.

"Oh, ma chèri, I shall show you shortly."

He returned his attention to the carriage and lifted his hand in a gesture of farewell to the conveyance, which held their friends and loved ones. The driver snapped the reins and the carriage slowly began to rumble away into the night. The couple sighed in unison, startling each other. He chuckled and she blushed prettily. As the carriage vanished out of sight around a corner, Erik closed the front door. He gently pulled his wife from his side to face him.

"Alone at last."

He lowered his mouth to hers and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips then pulled back.

"Christine, are you ready to retire to our room?"

He spoke with a studied nonchalance that could not belie the true meaning of his query.

She felt a chill of apprehension run through her body at the mention of their room, but as soon as she looked up into his eyes, all fear melted as she recognized her husband mirrored her nervousness about their wedding night. She flashed what she hoped was a seductive grin.

"Yes, my husband. Please show me what it is that I am never to forget."

He laughed and suddenly whirling her about, lifted her in his arms. Then, without another word, carried her across the foyer, up the stairs, down the hall and into his bed chamber. Without setting her down, he hooked the door with his heel and swung it closed.

The door shut with a resounding thump in the now still house.

Elaine smiled as she heard Erik's bedroom door close and after turning down the gas lamps in the foyer, she disappeared into the darkness.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

With Christine safely cradled in his arms, Erik leaned back against his bedroom door. She snaked her hands up his chest, ran them over his shoulders and as she cupped the back of his head firmly in her hands, she pulled his lips to hers. Her innocent kiss quickly evolved into one of passion and soon, Erik ran his tongue along her bottom lip in an unspoken request to deepen their kiss, which Christine granted with a low moan of desire. Thrusting his tongue into her mouth, he lovingly entangled it with hers. Slowly, they explored the liquid chasms, only separating to draw breath before plunging to join their mouths once more. Erik trembled and cried out as he felt Christine gently rake her pinkie's fingernail behind the outer shell of his ear. He gazed down at her amazed at how this simple touch enflamed him.

"How did you know?" He gasped.

Her brown eyes burned and reflected flecks of sienna and amber in the room's candlelight. Her passion-swollen lips smiled.

"Well, it felt good to me when you did it to me, so … turn about is fair play. Is it not?" She whispered huskily.

He responded by stumbling to the bed. He carefully sat down, never releasing her from the cradle of his embrace. He rained kisses upon her face and pulled away to worship her with his gaze. Their eyes met.

"Erik, touch me. Put your hands on me. Please? I need to feel you touching me."

Her low voice carried a barely controlled need and the desire he read in her eyes proved to be his undoing. He growled and laid her next to him on the bed. His eyes drank in the sight of her wild curls, flushed cheeks, panting mouth, burning eyes. His gaze swept down her long, elegant neck and lingered at her heaving bodice. He lay on the bed next to her, leaning on his forearm and began to grant her pleas. His hand rose above her face and he placed his talented fingers on her forehead. He slowly moved, first his fingers and then his palm over the surface of her face, outlining the oval of her countenance with the edge of his palm. Her lips parted and his thumb caressed the fullness offered him. He froze as her mouth begged and lips trembled.

"Erik! Please?"

He stared into her eyes. Eyes that radiated need, but also confusion. His innocent sylph wished for him to touch her, but did not know how to tell him. Fortunately, Erik's earlier conversation with Phillipe provided him a primer on what his bride required of him. He pushed himself up from his reclining position on the bed, pressing his index finger to Christine's lips to silence her anticipated protest. He sat next to her and cupping her face between his hands, began to move them slowly down her neck to rest on the cloth covered mounds of her breasts. His hands explored and swirled across the twin orbs, caressing them singly and in tandem. As the rise and fall of her chest increased and the sound of her breathing became more ragged, he gained confidence and allowed his hands to continue their journey further down her body to her waist, then hips and finally, to cup her womanly center. They gasped, Christine from the pleasure his hand brought to her and Erik from her unconscious arching of her hips to press herself more firmly against his hand. The pair's eyes met and their thoughts passed from one to the other and back again with ease.

"Ma chèri?" He almost moaned.

"Oui?" She breathed.

"Roll over."

Her eyes held a look of confusion for just a moment before understanding flooded them and she grinned at him almost wickedly. Stretching her arms above her head, she gracefully twisted her body and surprised Erik by somehow ending up on her stomach without touching her billowing skirts.

"Amazing! Madame, you could have been a prima ballerina with moves such as that."

Turning her face to the side, so she could look into her husband's eyes, she smirked at him.

"You have no idea, Monsieur. However, I would be most pleased to provide you with a private audition …."

Her words, cut short by the sudden flurry of his hands tugging at the laces of her gown, evolved into bell-like tinkles of laughter.

"That tickles!"

However, Erik could not stop. He needed to see her. He needed to continue his exploration of the woman lying on his bed. The playful teasing, passionate kisses and caresses of the past days combined with the sight of her now bare back, enflamed him.

"Christine!"

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and slowly released it.

"Erik? Are you all right?"

He exhaled a shaky breath and shook his head.

"You are so beautiful. You are everything I could ever want. Are you certain that I am what you want? Stop me now, please! If you have any doubts, stop me now!" He panted.

She spoke no words, simply rolled over, stood from the bed and allowed her gown to slide to the floor to puddle at her feet. She turned to stand before him with her arms at her sides, clad only in her corset, pantalets and stockings. His head spun at the sight of her. She turned from him.

"Husband, please help me remove my corset." She turned her head to glance over her shoulder. "I wish to know what it is to be a wife, your wife."

**XXX**

He stood motionless, his mind reeling as the meaning of her words entered his consciousness, then he fell to the laces of her corset much as a wolf on its prey. His nimble fingers made short work of the ties and his fevered hands soon found the restricting garment joining the pool of tulle on the floor. He noticed her hands tugging at something near her waist. And, just as he spun her about, her pantalets slid to the floor as well. Resting a hand against his chest, she leaned down and tugged at the ties on her stockings. Her last pieces of clothing dropped to the floor. She stood before him with her arms at her sides and watched him take in the sight before him. After several moments of silence and still no movement on her husband's part, a blush stained her cheeks and then ran down her body to stop at the tops of her breasts. She lowered her eyes to the floor, but stubbornly refused to cover her body with her arms.

"Erik? I may be wrong, but I do believe that one of us is wearing way too many clothes."

Spurred into action by her words, Erik began to tear his clothes from his body. Christine reached out a calming hand and placed it on his arm.

"Here, let me help you."

She pulled the pin from his cravat and carefully placed it in the pocket of his suit jacket, then unknotted the silk at his throat. Tugging the silk slowly from around his neck, she allowed it to snake down the front of his body to join the growing pile of clothing. She slid her hands beneath his jacket up to his shoulders and pushed it off and down to the floor. His waistcoat soon followed. Cufflinks flew, buttons popped and Christine gasped, as her impatient husband ripped off his shirt.

She ran a hand over the heated flesh of his chest and gave her husband a shy smile of approval. His broad chest bore only a light dusting of dark hair, which trailed down to disappear at the waist of his trousers. Christine's eyes widened as she looked lower and saw the front of her husband's pants straining with a need to be undone. Her blush deepened, but she succumbed to her desire and reaching out her hand, caressed the bulge, which caused her husband to groan even louder. Smiling, she suddenly reached out and shoved him backwards. He surprised her for as he fell, he grabbed her wrist and she fell with him. They landed together, he on the bottom and she on top. His hands began moving all over her nakedness, gently squeezing, caressing, rubbing. When she slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his trousers, he shouted.

"Christine!"

His hips pushed into her enveloping hand and she began slowly stroking him. In return, he immediately sought out her center and allowed his fingers to dip into her. She gasped.

"Erik!"

His fingers searched for the button, about which Phillipe had spoke. Gently parting her nether lips, he ran his fingers up and down when he suddenly felt the little nub pop up. He kissed her as they both caressed the parts of their bodies that cried out with the need to join. Erik felt the tightness gathering in his loins and gently took hold of Christine's wrist.

"Slowly, gently …." He murmured.

"Oh, Erik. Love me, please?" She purred.

He rolled her to his side and quickly removed his remaining clothes. He kissed his way down her body, pausing at the base of her neck, nuzzling at her breasts and then lowering himself to discover her most private of places. He sucked gently and flicked his tongue over her nub as he sent one, then two and, finally three digits into the heat of her wetness. Christine's hips rocked to meet each thrust of his fingers and her moans intensified. And, then Erik felt her internal walls tighten about his fingers and pulse. His cheeks and chin suddenly awash in the flood of her pinnacle. Her voice almost unrecognizable as she choked out his name.

"Oh, Erik, Erik, Erik, Erik!"

He pulled himself back up to look into her eyes and carefully brushed the curls from her face. He wiped the wetness from his face with the back of his hand and chuckled at his bride's embarrassment.

"Do not blush, ma chèri. I cannot imagine a sweeter wedding feast."

He rolled on top of her and staring deep into her eyes moved over her center. Never breaking eye contact he slowly entered her body, only stopping as he felt the proof of her virginity barring his progress. He began to withdraw, but gasped as Christine placed her hands on his buttocks and pulled him back. He plunged into her and he felt himself rip through her barrier. Their bodies now completely joined, he savored the tightness of her body. He waited for her to show him she wanted more, but she did not move.

"Christine?"

"Oh, Erik! I do not know what to do. Show me!"

The raw emotion in her voice spurred him into action and slowly he began to move in and out of her body. As he gave his mind over to the passion of his body, his thrusts became swifter and harder. Moans and gasps erupted from both the man and the woman as the rhythm of their love moved closer to its climax. Feeling Christine's legs wrap about his waist, Erik sank deeper into her body and the two screamed as they found their release.

"Erik! I love you!"

"Oh, Christine! I love you …."

**XXX**

**

* * *

****Author's Note:** Well, here it is! I hope you found Erik and Christine's wedding night as pleasant as they did! --ny

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	28. She Shall Have Music

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DEDICATION: This chapter is for my beloved daughter, Adrianna Anastasia on the 23****rd**** anniversary of her death at the hands of a drunk driver. No six year old child should die as she did … no one of any age should. To honor the memory of my beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed, angel of a daughter and the countless others that have died, please do not ever consume alcoholic beverages and then drive a vehicle. I died on June 8, 1984 with my daughter and a woman forever broken took my place in the world. Even after all these years, it never becomes any easier … it just becomes easier to hide from the rest of the world.**

**Adrianna, I miss you each and every day. I have kept the six year old alive within me just as I promised you I would on that awful morning when I held you in my arms and sent you to find my mother, your grandma, in the light at the end of the path. My mother, Jo Ann Mary and my grandfather, Cal Nicolas also died, but they succumbed to their injuries before the paramedics arrived. My valiant child fought for her life for one week before jealous death stole her from me.**

**Nana, you were all that was light, innocence, laughter, goodness and beauty in my life. I miss you. I love you ….**

* * *

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantoms_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**Ride a Cock-Horse to Banbury-Cross**_

_**Ride a cock-horse to Banbury-Cross  
to see an old woman get up on her hoss.  
With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes,  
she shall have music wherever she goes.**_

_**Mother Goose (Circa 17**__**th**__** – 18**__**th**__** Centuries)**_

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight – She Shall Have Music**

"Erik! I love you!"

"Oh, Christine! I love you …."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik awoke and stretched. He felt relaxed and rested. The nightmare had not plagued his sleep and he had slept through the entire night undisturbed.

"_Oh! What a relief. It is still dark …."_

He rolled over and began to close his eyes to go back to sleep, when he inadvertently noticed the time. The grandfather clock in the corner read eleven o'clock.

"Merde! I am late!"

He swore and sprang to a sitting position. Leaning forward, he placed his face in his cupped hands.

"_What a wonderfully amazing dream. It seemed so real! I have taken leave of my senses. How could I ever imagine that a woman as beautiful as Christine would ever consent to marriage with a …."_

His jumbled thoughts suddenly halted as he took note of his current state of undress.

"_What the hell?"_

"Erik? Mon amour? Whatever are you doing? Come back in bed with me."

The husky voice purred from behind him.

"_Christine?"_

"Erik? You shall catch your death sitting there like that … not that I do not appreciate the view, but truly, the air is chilled and my arms await you, mon ange chéri de mon coeur secret."

It was at that moment that he saw the golden glint on his left hand and realized the truth of the previous night.

"_Oh my God! I am a husband! Christine is my wife! Last night was no dream, it happened! I made love to my wife. And, I am loved."_

"Erik?"

Her voice wavered as it began to hold a note of uncertainty and he knew that he had to acknowledge her immediately or run the risk of ruining their thus far blissful union. He turned back to her with a gentle smile on his face and crept back beneath the blankets. Taking her into his arms, he stroked her hair and murmured.

"Good morning, ma chèri. I apologize, but I awoke suddenly and thought that last night was a wonderful dream. Now, I discover that it was wonderfully real."

She giggled as he nuzzled at her neck.

"Erik!"

She squirmed against him, which caused him to become aroused. He felt his need for her rise once more and he ground himself against her.

"Oh, Erik!" She purred.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The happy newlyweds spent the entire day abed talking quietly and making love. Their only interruption being Elaine quietly knocking on their door to inform them that the appropriate meal lay on a tray on the floor just outside their bedroom door. As the clock struck five, Erik found himself in the grip of an inspiration, which he had not felt in many years. He rolled over onto his side and leaning his head on his hand, he studied his bride's face. His hand moved to her throat and slowly moved up and down its velvet length.

"Ma chèri, I have been thinking about the other night and what you said about your father."

Her languid eyes met his and sparkled in the candlelight.

"I said much regarding my Papa, Erik. What precisely is it of which you speak?"

"Well, you said he asked you to promise him two things that night. What were they? You never told me."

She closed her eyes, but not before Erik saw her pained expression. He leaned into her, pressed his forehead against hers and whispered.

"He would not wish for you to feel so much anguish, ma petite. I am here now. Allow me to lend you my strength. You are no longer alone, ma amour précieux."

Erik heard the intake of her breath in a quiet hiss and then a silence, broken only by the steady ticking of the grandfather clock and the pounding of both their hearts. The moment seemed to stretch on into eternity, but in reality lasted but a few seconds. Just as he thought she would not answer him, she spoke.

"Yes, mon amour. He made me promise him two things. One was that I care for you and allow you to care for me in return, which I promised without hesitation. The other was that I sing again. Well, in truth I must admit that his request went further than simply singing again. He was quite insistent on obtaining my promise that I return to the stage again and share my voice with the world."

She dropped her eyes from his as her cheeks burned bright red with embarrassment. He, however, was not going to allow her to deny her promises.

"Christine."

The man received no response from the woman he loved beyond words.

"Christine?"

His agonized whisper penetrated her tortured soul and strengthened her resolve to speak nothing but the truth to her husband. She opened her eyes, gazed deep into his soul and gasped to find all of her own insecurities mirrored in his burning orbs. She swallowed hard and brokenly replied.

"Yes, Erik?"

"What answer did you give to your Papa?"

"I promised I would do both of the things he asked of me."

"Really?"

"Of course, mon amour. How could I ever deny my Papa anything? How could I deny the Angel of Music? And, the fact that my Papa is the Angel of Music only made me doubly bound to acquiesce to his requests. I could do nothing other. I gave him my word on both accounts."

"You did?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Christine."

He nuzzled her furiously, his mouth devouring hers before slipping away again.

"So, you give yourself to the Angel of Music's chosen guide?"

He smirked.

"Yes, my husband."

His smirk deepened then froze.

"Wait! What do you mean that you will return to the stage again?"

**

* * *

Author's Note****: Sorry for the brevity of this chapter, but due to the action about to take place in the next chapter it is necessary. I would like to extend my humblest of thanks to all of my reviewers. I believe I have responded to each of you individually, but if I have overlooked anyone, please accept both my apology and my thanks! Fondest Regards, ny

* * *

**


	29. Where Everything Is Music

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**Where Everything Is Music**_

_**Don't worry about saving these songs!  
And if one of our instruments breaks,  
it doesn't matter.**_

_**We have fallen into the place  
where everything is music.**_

_**The strumming and the flute notes  
rise into the atmosphere,  
and even if the whole world's harp  
should burn up, there will still be  
hidden instruments playing.**_

_**So the candle flickers and goes out.  
We have a piece of flint, and a spark.**_

_**This singing art is sea foam.  
The graceful movements come from a pearl  
somewhere on the ocean floor.**_

_**Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge  
of driftwood along the beach, wanting!**_

_**They derive  
from a slow and powerful root  
that we can't see.**_

_**Stop the words now.  
Open the window in the center of your chest,  
and let the spirits fly in and out.**_

_**Jalaluddin Rumi**_

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine – Where Everything Is Music**

He nuzzled her furiously, his mouth devouring hers before slipping away again.

"So, you give yourself to the Angel of Music's chosen guide?"

He smirked.

"Yes, my husband."

His smirk deepened then froze.

"Wait! What do you mean that you will return to the stage again?"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Her eyes met his with a look of honest confusion. The sudden and unreasonable anger that swelled in his chest and threatened to take over his mind began to subside. Her innocence acted as a soothing balm on his soul and healed the hurt, which caused his anger in the first place.

"Erik? What is wrong?"

Her voice wavered as she hesitantly met his burning eyes. He frowned as he noticed that her lower lip trembled slightly. He closed his eyes, embarrassed by his irrational reaction and lowered his head. He shook his head and decided to try again. This time he would control his foolish temper.

"Ma chère, I did not realize you had performed on the stage. It must have been long ago for Mademoiselle Giry and Monsieur de Chagny informed me that you have never performed at the Opera Populaire. I take it you performed when you, well, with you …. I take it you performed before you came to live at the opera house."

He finished weakly as he opened his eyes and raised his face to hers. Unshed tears made her eyes glisten and sparkle in the flickering candlelight.

"Yes, I was very young when I first sang on the stage. I believe I was but four years of age. I seem to remember singing, "Ave Maria" by Shubert. My Papa played his violin and I stood next to him. The one thing I remember about that performance was how surprised I was at the end of the song. The lime lights blinded me during the performance and prevented me from seeing the audience. When the song ended and the auditorium erupted with applause, it stunned me to see all of those people. At first, I was frightened, but then I felt intrigued by their reaction. Papa said that a person playing an instrument or singing a song holds complete power over their audience. The power to make them feel the way we want them to feel. Happiness … sadness … regret … love … hate … fear, Papa said that a truly talented vocalist could cause their audience to experience any emotion they wished. My Papa taught me to sing, but it has been many years since I trained with him. It has been many years since I could hear the music. When Papa died, I could no longer hear the music and I could no longer sing.

He took her hand in his and kissed it gently.

"You need not speak of it if it is too painful …."

She quietly silenced his words with a determined shake of her head.

"No, I am the opera ghost no longer. I am through with mourning my father's death and I have promises to keep. While I have not thought this through, I believe I have honored at least one of my oaths to my Angel of Music by marrying you, Erik."

Her face flushed and she stumbled over her words as she rushed to speak them.

"However, my promise is not the reason I married you, Erik. You do know that do you not? I married you because I love you!"

Their eyes met and she sighed as she realized he had no doubts over her feelings for him, so she continued.

"Words are a feeble tool and will never be able to truly express how happy I am that we are married. I do not think a day shall pass that I will not say a prayer of thanks."

She tilted her head until she caught both his eyes and was certain she had his full attention. She lifted her free hand to his face where it freely roamed in a loving caress. Both of their eyes drifted closed as they savored the swell of passion the gesture evoked. He dipped his lips to hers and they enjoyed the simple pleasure for a time before she drew back with a sad smile.

"Now, all that remains of my duty to my Angel is the fulfillment of my pledge to perform. I wish to celebrate my father's life. Music was his life, our life. Returning to the stage is the best way to share my Papa's legacy. Yet, I have not used my instrument in many years and I need to begin training my voice before I can think about auditioning. I will speak with Madame Giry on the morrow when we return to the opera house to collect my things. She may know of a vocal tutor in need of a student."

She paused and her eyes searched her husband's face. Her brow furrowed in consternation.

"Erik? What is it?"

He shook his head as he made to voice his denial of anything being wrong, but she silenced him with a loving finger pressed to his lips.

"No. Do not deny that something troubles you. I can see it in your eyes. Feel it in the tenseness of your body. Please? Mon amour, do not keep secrets from me. I keep nothing from you. Please honor me with the same forthrightness."

He gently pressed a kiss to her finger before removing it from his lips.

"Oh, Christine! It is my own insecurities, which haunt me. And, I must admit that the thought of you spending time with a vocal tutor caused me to feel jealous. I do understand the need, but my heart rails against the thought. You must simply allow me a little time to become accustomed to the idea. I do trust you, Christine. Never doubt that. I simply know that were I in the position of being your tutor, I would not be able to resist you."

He shrugged.

"Yes, well, my husband, you have forgotten one very important thing."

"What is that, chéri?"

"Erik, I love you! You are the one I want, the one I choose to be with for the rest of my life. And, if my tutor were to behave inappropriately, I would be the first to consider the use of a garrote."

She chuckled at Erik's look of astonishment at her macabre remark.

"I grew up in an opera house. Please! I believe I have witnessed just about every type of murder known to mankind. It causes one's sense of humor to become somewhat skewed from the norm."

She stifled a yawn.

"Can we speak more of this in the morning? I grow tired and I would like to …."

She blushed deeply, but that did not stop her hand as it reached out and she began to fondle her husband.

"I want you to take me before I grow too tired, my husband."

The man moaned and rocked his arousal into her fist.

"And, who am I to deny you anything, ma chère?"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

He awoke suddenly, startled from a dreamless sleep. His eyes searching the darkness and his ears straining to hear the reason for the interruption of his slumber. He tightened his arm protectively around Christine's waist. Pulling her close to him, her naked body distracted him from his initial concern. He nuzzled his face into her neck and began to drift back to sleep when he heard the faint sound of a violin. His eyes opened wide and his entire body immediately tensed. He gently shook the still-sleeping form of his wife and whispered into her ear.

"Christine. Wake up."

She groaned in protest, but he refused to allow her to roll away from him.

"Christine. Ma chère. There is someone in the house. Someone that does not belong here. Wake up."

"Erik?"

Her voice sounded silky and sultry to his ears, but he could not allow himself to become distracted.

"Chéri, please put on a nightgown and robe. Come with me to the door and lock it behind me. I will be back after I discover the cause of this disturbance. Do not open the door for anyone but me. Do you understand?"

As soon as he felt her nod her head, he released his hold on her so she could get into her nightdress. Sliding from the bed, he pulled on his night pants and then walking to his closet, opened the door. He stepped inside and reached up onto the top shelf. His hand found the hilt of his sword and he carefully slid it from its scabbard. He noticed that the plaintively sweet, yet sad song of the violin sounded much closer than when he first awoke. He hurried. Returning to Christine's side, he placed his arm around her waist and drew her to the door with him.

"Do not forget to lock the door and do not open it for anyone but me."

"I will do as you ask, but please be careful! I do not need you to be heroic and dead, Erik. I need you to be alive and with me. Do _**you**_ understand?"

He smiled in reply and opened the door.

Christine was the first to gasp as she had been facing the door while Erik had turned to give her a reassuring smile. Seeing his wife's face pale and her hand fly to her mouth in shock, Erik turned. The sight that met his eyes made him feel as if he was still asleep, never really awakening in the first place. The song ended and the sound of the violin paused before beginning again. The song, this time was unmistakable. The song was "Ave Maria." Music filled the air, filling Erik with an indescribable and intoxicating joy.

"Papa?" Christine whispered almost reverently. "Papa? Is that you?"

Erik found he had to hold tightly to Christine's hand as she almost began to run towards the source of the music. Her excitement grew as soon as she realized where she and her husband were. She tugged at his hand. He resisted her insistent hand. For a moment when their eyes met, something he saw troubled him deeply. The look in her eyes, a wild brightness, it reminded him of the way she would look at him the moment her body fell over the precipice into ecstasy. He felt a wave of anger wash over him. A rage against the music he had just thought so enticing. Erik growled and dug in his heels. The music pounded against his head and he swayed under its assault.

"Come, Erik! Do not be afraid for the Angel of Music has us under his wings!"

The music filled the air around him. Finally, it found a chink in his mental armor and began to flow through him. The more he resisted its pull, the more unrelenting was its siren's call. It filled his head to the point of where he thought his skull might burst.

"Do not fight it, mon amour! Come with me! I need to introduce you to my angel!"

Like an impatient child, she began to tug at his hand as she attempted to pull him away from the shore of the lake and towards the strange house, which apparently lay in an underground cavern. Erik turned and tried to pull Christine back into their bedroom only to discover the door was no longer there. Behind them, a large, dark lake with a small gondola beached nearby. Erik stumbled as Christine yanked on his hand. She drew him towards the source of the overpowering, yet heavenly music.

Straightening, Erik squared his shoulders, fought the pain in his head that threatened to overwhelm him and allowed Christine to lead him to the house by the lake.

**

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Author's Note****: I would like to thank everyone for their kind words and reviews of the last chapter. I apologize for not responding personally and beg for your understanding, but having to write about Adrianna is difficult. She would have been 29 years old on April 24.**

**My thanks to: laal ratty, Lady Winifred, Mominator, TheDragonEye, Quiet2885, Skoteinos Metamfiezmai, JackieLu, mrsphan, poetzproblem and Timeflies for your wonderful reviews! --ny

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**


	30. The Sound of Silence

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**The Sound of Silence**_

_**Hello darkness, my old friend,  
I've come to talk with you again,  
Because a vision softly creeping,  
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,  
And the vision  
That was planted in my brain  
Still remains  
Within the sound of silence.**_

_**Music & Lyrics by Simon and Garfunkel**_

**

* * *

Chapter Thirty – The Sound of Silence**

Erik found he had to hold tightly to Christine's hand as she almost began to run towards the source of the music. Her excitement grew as soon as she realized where she and her husband were. She tugged at his hand. He resisted her insistent pull. For a moment when their eyes met, something he saw troubled him deeply. The look in her eyes, a wild brightness, it reminded him of the way she would look at him the moment her body fell over the precipice into ecstasy. He felt a wave of anger wash over him. A rage against the music he had just thought so enticing. Erik growled and dug in his heels. The music pounded against his head and he swayed under its assault.

"Come, Erik! Do not be afraid for the Angel of Music has us under his wings!"

The music filled the air around him. Finally, it found a chink in his mental armor and began to flow through him. The more he resisted its pull, the more unrelenting was its siren's call. It filled his head to the point of where he thought his skull might burst.

"Do not fight it, mon amour! Come with me! I need to introduce you to my angel!"

Like an impatient child, she began to tug at his hand as she attempted to pull him away from the shore of the lake and towards the strange house, which apparently lay in an underground cavern. Erik turned and tried to pull Christine back into their bedroom only to discover the door was no longer there. Behind them was a large, dark lake with a small gondola beached nearby. Erik stumbled as Christine yanked on his hand. She drew him towards the source of the overpowering, yet heavenly music.

Straightening, Erik squared his shoulders, fought against the pain in his head that threatened to overwhelm him and allowed Christine to lead him to the house by the lake.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik numbly allowed Christine to pull him to the front door of the small house. The pain quickly grew to an unbearable crescendo within his head. He stumbled and placed his free hand to his forehead. His near fall broke the spell, which held Christine in its thrall. She turned to him and as she noticed his pallor, she cried out.

"Oh! Erik! Are you unwell? Here stop, please, sit."

She led him to a bench next to the front door of the house and helped him to sit there.

"What is wrong with you? Is there anything I can do to help you?"

The man moaned, lowered his head and rubbed his forehead even more vigorously than before.

"The music," he gasped. "Please! Make it stop! It is killing me!"

Confusion swept across her features.

"_How could the music of my angel hurt him?"_ She thought for a moment, her eyes searching her husband's taut features. _"He is resisting the music. Something about it angers him, but what?"_

Erik groaned and Christine's silent contemplation abruptly ended, rapidly replaced with a fierce determination.

"_It does not matter why, he needs it to stop. So, I must cease my ruminations and do something!"_

She nodded her understanding, although she knew her husband could not see it. She released his hand and strode determinedly to the front door of the house. She stood before the door with her arms akimbo, her hands on her hips and called out loudly.

"Angel? Please stop! Come out! Please? You are hurting him. Please stop hurting him! Stop it now! Angel, he is my husband and I love him. Without him, I will not be able to hear the music. Can you hear me? Papa? Angel?"

Her words trailed away into a frightened whimper as she glanced towards Erik who sat slumped against the wall of the house. He held his head in both hands now. Suddenly, the man lurched forward and collapsed on the ground where he writhed for a moment before unconsciousness claimed him. The young woman's reaction was immediate and swift. She ran to her husband's side and lifted him into her careful embrace. She gently stroked his face as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"**ANGEL!"** She screamed.

And, then she found only the sound of silence. Blessed silence.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"_So, today is the day we shall see whether the young man is his own man or not. For my Meg's sake, he had best be true. I know not what I shall do if he breaks her heart."_

The ballet mistress pounded out the rhythm of the dance as she oversaw the rehearsal for the latest production. Her thoughts sounded louder in her head than the orchestra below her in the pit. Her brows deeply furrowed with worry.

"_Well, I must thank Monsieur Destler for this … his impetuous wedding provided the young Vicomte with the necessary courage to confront his parents over his intentions to ask for Meg's hand. Those two are such a strange pair. The boy is all fire and emotion and Erik is still, deep water and intellect. They are opposite sides of the coin, but still they are the same coin. They provide one another the facets the other lacks. A perfect complement of personalities."_

She paused to consult the timepiece she had pinned to her bodice.

"_Four o'clock. The boy will arrive in an hour or so, but I thought Erik and Christine planned to come here about Noon today. Hmmm …. Newlyweds!"_ She smirked. _"Well, it seems that Meg shall have to wait another day before she can gossip with Christine about her wedding night. Lord! That girl and her curiosity, it shall be the death of me yet! Monsieur le Vicomte best arrive with a proposal of marriage or my girl's heart will burst. I can only hope that he fears my cane more than he fears his parents."_

Her thoughts suddenly interrupted as a misstep caught her attention.

"Jammes! **A ballerina** pirouettes with her leg in passé. In other forms of dance, it may be acceptable to pirouette with your bent leg facing front, **in ballet** the execution of a proper pirouette requires your bent leg's position be off to the side. The position taken in a **correct passé**. Would you like to spend an extra hour after rehearsal practicing this move? Or, if you prefer, you may demonstrate before the company your ability to perform this move now. However, if I judge your execution as lacking in any way, you shall have two extra hours of practice. Which option do you prefer, Mademoiselle?"

The gangly, freckle-faced girl's complexion paled and she stammered with obvious embarrassment.

"My apologies, Madame Giry. I prefer to practice an extra hour and I shall do my best not to make the same mistake again."

The stern woman nodded her head and then whipped around to face the company's prima ballerina.

"Sorelli! Do you find Jammes' predicament amusing? Perhaps, a lesson in humility is in order. Please, step center stage. I believe a demonstration of your strength, stamina and technique is in order. Can you perform a fouetté en tournant?"

The young woman's eyes flashed and she cast a disdainful glance at the ballet mistress.

"Of course! How could I hold the position of prima ballerina if I could not?"

Madame Giry nodded her head, agreeing with the dancer's statement and smirked.

"Well, perhaps, Mademoiselle has heard of the ballet, _"Cinderella,"_ being performed by the Imperial Ballet of St. Petersburg?"

The smile on her face faltered as Sorelli realized her ego just earned her a dressing down in front of the entire ballet corps and she made her almost inaudible reply.

"No, Madame. I have not."

"Well, Prima Ballerina Assoluta Pierina Legnani performed 32 consecutive fouettés en tournant.**¹** She performed 32 of them without stopping, without dropping her working leg to the stage and without traveling one inch! Would you care to provide us with a demonstration? Or, would you prefer to apologize to Jammes and assist with her practice of pirouettes after rehearsal?"

Swallowing her pride, the prima ballerina turned to the gawky Jammes.

"I apologize, Jammes. I had no right to laugh. We all make mistakes. Would you allow me to help you with your pirouettes?"

With a sympathetic look in her eyes, Jammes smiled and nodded.

"Yes, thank you."

The stern ballet mistress smirked as a sign of her approval and shouted.

"Very well! The break is over! We shall begin again at the grand jeté. Monsieur Reyer, please?"

The woman began to pound her cane in time with the music once more and fell back into her musings.

"_That boy better arrive here soon!"_

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Father! If you do not calm yourself, you shall suffer a fit of apoplexy!"

Phillipe smirked from his comfortable perch in the corner of his father's study. The older son of the Marquis de Chagny sighed as he bore witness to the confrontation between his father and younger brother.

"Phillipe, you had best remain silent or you may find yourself in a conversation that you do not wish to have with me." The furious man snarled. "At least your brother has the decency to wish to marry the girl … unlike you and your prima ballerina."

The Comte Phillipe de Chagny grimaced and turned his head to look out the window.

"_I will give that to Raoul. He is much more courageous than I am. I never even considered marrying La Sorelli, but then when you have already sampled the fruit, why purchase the bushel? I am just not the marrying sort of man. I am 45 and too old to change my bachelor ways. It is up to Raoul to carry on the de Chagny line. Personally, I believe bringing some new blood into the family can only improve the line. Mademoiselle Giry is young and strong, unlike most of the simpering debutantes paraded like cattle at the soirees. I only wish that I had the nerve to voice my opinion."_

He slid from the arm of the chair he sat upon down onto its plush cushion. He turned to look first upon his father and then his brother.

Raoul stood tall and proud, fearless before their father's wrath. The indecisive boy gone and a man in his place.

"Father, I intend to marry Mademoiselle Giry whether I receive your blessing or not. I would prefer to receive your approval, but if you cannot find it in yourself to do so, I will marry her without it. Please, father! At least consent to meet her and her mother. If you meet her, you shall see that she is noble enough to be an empress. Speaking of which, our recently deposed Emperor's father was not born of noble blood. Why can I not marry for love? Is our family so poor that it requires me to make a loveless match? Do you truly believe that a monarchy will reign again in France? We live in the Third Republic now. Kings and queens, emperors and empresses, lords and ladies … all of these are the remnants of a world slowly fading away. They are a part of the past we can no longer afford. We must look to the future. Can I not build a life with someone I care about deeply?"

Phillipe stared at his brother in amazement. No one could accuse the younger de Chagny of having a serious nature, but this girl had changed him. This girl had transformed the carefree boy into a thoughtful man. Phillipe felt an undeniable compulsion to speak on his brother's behalf and damn the consequences.

"Father, I support Raoul's choice and I believe our family name will not suffer by having this girl marry into it. Please do not turn your back on a son of whom you should be most proud."

The older man and the younger man turned as one to face Phillipe. Identical expressions of disbelief on both of their faces. Phillipe found he could not hold back his laughter, which at the scowl that appeared on his father's face, he quickly quelled.

"Come, father. Let us discuss this in a matter as befitting gentlemen."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The door creaked on its rusty hinges and a young man exited the house by the lake. Christine looked up through eyes almost blinded by tears. She turned away to gaze upon the unconscious man in her arms and then back at her angel.

"Why?"

**

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¹ **Pierina Legnani, Prima Ballerina Assoluta of the Imperial Ballet of St. Petersburg in 1893, first introduced 32 fouettés en tournant into the coda of the Grand Pas d'action of the ballet "Cinderella" (choreographed by Lev Ivanov, Enrico Cecchetti and Marius Petipa to the music of Baron Boris Fitinhof-Schell). She continued to perform them from 1893 to 1901. 

I realize the date is not quite in keeping with the timeline, but after all, this is a work of fiction. I find the ability to perform a single fouetté en tournant an amazing feat, but performing 32 of them consecutively … that is astounding! So, now you know about Pierina Legnani and a little bit of her lives on in you ….

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**Author's Note****: Well, I just thought I should let everyone know that the reason I re-posted so much of the previous chapter at the beginning of this one is that I revised it and thought this the best way for everyone to see it. My thanks to Mominator for providing the impetus to do this. I therefore, dedicate this chapter to her. You have been a faithful reviewer and I always look forward to your comments. Thank you!**

**As always, my thanks go out to each and every single one of you who read and review. You can only understand how much it means to an author if you yourself write. However, even if you are a lurker and only read, I appreciate that too! This story just passed the 15,000 hit mark … it just surpassed my first attempt at fan fiction, "Christine dans Deux," which blows me away!**

**I realize that I've left you with somewhat of a cliffhanger, so I shall attempt to post my next chapter no later than Sunday. Remember, the more reviews I receive the more incentive I feel to deliver another chapter! (Hey, what can I say? I've already admitted it in the past, so there's no use denying it now. I admit it! I am addicted to your reviews! So, feed the kitty, please?) --ny

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**


	31. A Lost Chord

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**A Lost Chord**_

_**Seated one day at the Organ,  
I was weary and ill at ease,  
and my fingers wandered idly  
over the noisy keys.**_

_**I do not know what I was playing,  
or what I was dreaming then;  
but I struck one chord of music,  
like the sound of a great Amen.**_

_**It flooded the crimson twilight,  
like the close of an Angel's Psalm,  
and it lay on my fevered spirit  
with a touch of infinite calm.**_

_**It quieted pain and sorrow,  
like love overcoming strife;  
it seemed the harmonious echo  
from our discordant life.**_

_**It linked all perplexed meanings  
into one perfect peace,  
and trembled away into silence  
as if it were loth to cease.**_

_**I have sought, but I seek it vainly,  
that one lost chord divine,  
which came from the soul of the Organ,  
and entered into mine.**_

_**It may be that Death's bright angel  
will speak in that chord again,  
it may be that only in Heaven  
I shall hear that grand Amen.**_

_**Adelaide Procter**_

**

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Chapter Thirty-One – A Lost Chord**

The door creaked on its rusty hinges and a young man exited the house by the lake. Christine looked up through eyes almost blinded by tears. She turned away to gaze upon the unconscious man in her arms and then back at her angel.

"Why?"

"I did nothing, child. He has many demons, which he does not acknowledge. Many battles he has left unfought, choosing to hide away in loneliness and solitude. Finding love is something he never believed he would do. The mere fact that you are here with him and love him and he loves you, well, his heart knows he has found it. However, it is in his mind. It is his mind wherein all of his troubles lie. He is an extraordinarily intelligent man, and love is not an equation, nor is it possible to draw a blueprint for love. Love is emotion and therefore, illogical. That frightens him. You responded emotionally to the music, child. As did he at first, I might add. However, as soon as he gave vent to his jealousy, his mind took over from his heart. He felt the music would take you away from him, so he rejected the music. The music became the enemy, but his soul knows better. A battle within ensued and he does not even realize he had no other enemy other than himself. Here, let me take him into the house and he can recuperate while we talk."

The ethereal being who once was her father, bent down and held out his arms to Christine. She allowed the angel to take her husband's limp form into his arms and she smiled tremulously.

"You promise me that no further harm shall come to him? I could not bare it if something were to happen to him."

She unconsciously bit her lower lip and twisted a curl in her fingers. The angel smiled.

"Christine, I promise."

He lifted the insensible man from the ground, turned and walked into the house with Christine following closely behind him. Christine found the house by the lake amazed her in its exactness to the one she had lived in with her father. Everything exactly the same, down to the most minute detail. The voice of her angel interrupted her silent reverie.

"He is resting in the bedroom. If he calls out, we shall hear him." He paused for a moment before continuing. "You do realize that it is this way because this is how you remember it, do you not?"

"I beg your pardon?" She sputtered.

"The house, all of these things … they are the way they are because I drew them from your memory. I thought it would place you at ease being in a familiar place. I believe I explained this to you the last time you visited me."

"Yes, I remember. It still does not make it any less disconcerting. I am uncertain as to why you would believe I would find it comforting. Papa, you do remember you died in this house, do you not? I spent two days alone with you in this house before Madame came for me. Have you truly forgotten how lost and alone I was?" She shook her head sorrowfully. "You can no longer truly be my Papa. You really are the Angel of Music now."

"Yes, child. I can only vaguely remember those times now. I am sorry if I cause you distress, but I know no other way to fulfill my promise to you. The world needs you to hear the music once again. The world needs for you to fill it with your song. Actually, the world needs you and your husband."

She interrupted his words.

"Erik? The world needs his music as well?"

"Yes. Only together, can your song truly take wing and fly to the heavens. In order for that to happen, we must heal the hurts of his soul. Are you familiar with the seven deadly sins, child?"

"Of course, Papa … I mean, yes, Angel. I know what they are. They are Luxuria, Gula, Avaritia, Acedia, Ira, Invidia and Superbia.**¹** Why?"

"Your husband's immortal soul is in danger. He suffers under the sway of all seven of these sins and we must bring him back from the brink of disaster. He cannot find his way to hear the music while under the sway of these sins."

"I do not know what to do. I am not without sin, so who am I to cast the first stone?**²"**

Her angel shook his head.

"You misunderstand me, child. It is not with blame that he shall heal, but with love. He needs to learn that one lost chord that holds the key to music in his mind. If he learns that chord, he can unlock the music. Once he accepts the music, then the love shall find the way into his soul, heart and mind."

"And, how shall I go about accomplishing this task?"

"How did you overcome your sins, child? You suffered under the weight of most of the deadly sins, yet now you are free. What weapon did you use to battle these threats to your immortal soul?"

Christine sighed and stared at the floor. After a time of quiet reflection, she felt the moment of epiphany open her eyes.

"My weapons were hope and faith, Angel. The weapons given to me by my Papa."

The angel smiled sadly and nodded.

"Yes, child. Now, you must help your husband learn how to wield these in his battle. Do you know how to teach him?"

She nodded gently and smiled as a sweet relief flooded her face.

"Yes. I teach him through my love."

The Angel of Music smiled at the young woman who he knew once was his daughter and, not for the first time, wished he could truly remember how it felt when he was her Papa.

"Child?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"While he sleeps, I believe it is the best time to attempt reaching his soul. I would like to play something and have you sing. What would you like to sing for him?"

"Well, I have been listening to a song from the new production at the opera house, which I quite like. It is from the first act of a new opera, _"Pagliacci."_

The angel nodded, leaned over and picked up his violin.

"You may begin whenever you are ready, child."

The young woman stood near the armchair by the fireplace and placed her hand on the back of the chair. She rolled her head to loosen the muscles in her neck. Cleared her throat and then looked to her angel.

"May I have a glass of water, please?"

A radiant smile shone from the gentle countenance.

"On the mantle behind you."

She sipped some water then swished some in her mouth and swallowed. She loudly cleared her throat and lightly licked her lips. She stood straight, squared her shoulders, planted her feet, set her head and jaw at the proper angles, flexed her diaphragm muscles, drew a practice breath and released it.

"I am ready, Angel." She inhaled and began.

The sweet sound of the violin and the pure voice of the woman blended in perfect harmony.

"_**What fire there was in his look!  
I lowered my eyes  
for fear he should read  
my secret thoughts.  
Oh! If he caught me …  
He's so brutal …  
But enough: no more.  
These are idle, fearful dreams!  
O how glorious is the August sun!  
I feel full of life, and, my senses glowing  
with secret desire, I know not what I long for!  
Oh what a flight of birds,  
and what a chatter!  
What do they seek? Where are they going?  
Who knows?  
My mother, who could tell fortunes,  
understood their warbling,  
and sang this song to me as a child:  
Hey!  
The birds chirp up aloft,  
freely launched in flight like arrows.  
They defy the clouds and the burning sun  
and onward they fly  
through the boundless sky.  
Let them roam through the atmosphere,  
ever eager for the glorious infinite blue:  
They too follow a dream,  
a chimera, as onward they fly  
Through the gilded clouds.  
Though the winds freshen  
and the tempest roar,  
with pinions spread, they brave all dangers;  
rain or lightning, nothing defers them  
and onward they fly  
over abysses and oceans.  
Onward they go to some strange land  
of which perhaps they dream  
and which they seek in vain.  
But the gypsies of the sky  
follow the mysterious power  
which draws them …  
onward … ever onward!"**_

_**Nedda's Aria – Act 1 – "Pagliacci" by Ruggero Leoncavallo**_**³**

Her voice soared to the heavens along with the birds, which longed for the freedom found only in the sky. It told of the thrill of following one's dreams, the beauty one can find in defying the odds, but most of all, her voice sang of hope.

**

* * *

¹ **The seven deadly sins are Luxuria (archaic: extravagance – excessive love of physical comforts; modern: lust – excessive love of others), Gula (gluttony – archaic: overindulgence in any one thing; modern: overindulgence in food, drugs or alcohol), Avaritia (greed – excessive love of wealth or property), Acedia (sloth – archaic: an excess of apathy, depression or joylessness; modern: laziness, the purposeful failure to utilize one's talents and gifts), Ira (wrath – uncontrolled rage; the love of justice perverted to revenge, jealousy and spite), Invidia (envy – the desire for something that someone else has which one perceives oneself as lacking) and Superbia (pride – love of self perverted to hatred and contempt for one's fellow man). 

**² **_"__So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her."_ King James Bible, Chapter 8: Verse 7.

**³ "**_**Pagliacci"**_ (Clowns) is an opera consisting of a prologue and two acts written and composed by Ruggero Leoncavallo. It recounts the tragedy of Canio, a jealous husband in a commedia dell'Arte troupe, Nedda, Canio's wife and Silvio, Nedda's lover. _Pagliacci_ premiered at the Teatro Dal Verme in Milan on May 21, 1892, conducted by Arturo Toscanini.

Enrico Caruso played the role of Canio in _"Pagliacci."_ The role was one of his signature roles.

Today, most critics agree that Leoncavallo received his inspiration for the libretto _"Pagliacci"_ from an 1887 play by Catulle Mendès entitled, _"La Femme de Tabarin."_

Okay, so that's two for two on the dates, so I guess I must set this particular "Phantom" circa 1894.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hope this didn't get too spiritual for anyone, but we are dealing with an Angel after all! Next chapter, Erik awakens, I promise! I've already done the most difficult part of each chapter and that's choosing the opening poem/lyric/proverb, the rest is easy …. Oh, what a liar I am! As always, please read and review! --ny

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**


	32. The Touch of the Master's Hand

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**The Touch of the Master's Hand**_

_**'Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer  
Thought it scarcely worth his while  
To waste much time on the old violin,  
But held it up with a smile.  
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,  
"Who'll start the bidding for me?  
A dollar, a dollar. Then, two! Only two?  
Two dollars, and who'll make it three?"**_

_**"Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;  
Going for three..." But, no,  
from the room, far back, a grey-haired man  
Came forward and picked up the bow;  
then wiping the dust from the old violin,  
and tightening the loosened strings,  
he played a melody pure and sweet,  
as a caroling angel sings.**_

_**The music ceased, and the auctioneer,  
with a voice that was quiet and low,  
said, "What am I bid for the old violin?"  
And he held it up with the bow.  
"A thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?  
Two thousand! And who'll make it three?  
Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice,  
and going and gone," said he.**_

_**The people cheered, but some of them cried,  
"We do not quite understand.  
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:  
"The touch of the Master's hand."  
And many a man with life out of tune,  
and battered and scarred with sin,  
is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd  
much like the old violin.**_

_**A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,  
a game – and he travels on.  
He is going once, and going twice,  
He's going and almost gone.  
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd  
never can quite understand  
the worth of a soul and the change that is wrought  
by the touch of the Master's hand.**_

_**Myra Brooks Welch**_

**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two – The Touch of the Master's Hand**

Her voice soared to the heavens along with the birds, which longed for the freedom found only in the sky. It told of the thrill of following one's dreams, of the beauty one can find in defying the odds, but most of all, her voice sang of hope.

The young woman's voice echoed through the caverns beneath the cellars of the opera house, dwindling away into silence. She opened her eyes and found, much to her astonishment, that her angel's eyes were streaming with tears.

"Angel?" She asked hesitantly. "What is wrong? Was the song a poor choice? Or, was my singing that out of tune from disuse?"

"No, child." The angel smiled. "It is simply a joy to hear you sing once more. For a moment, when you sang, I remembered how it felt being your Papa. It was wonderful. The feeling is gone now, but I do remember that you made me very proud, Christine. Your voice is truly a perfect instrument in every way."

Embarrassed, she turned away and studied a mote of dust on the floor. After a moment, she spoke quietly.

"Angel, I need to be with Erik. I am very worried about him. He should have awakened by now. Where is he? Your room or mine?"

Wiping the tears from his cheeks, the angelic young man replied.

"He is in your room, child. I shall await you here. Call for me should you require anything and I will come straight away."

"Thank you, Angel."

She turned and walked down the short hallway. She stopped in front of the door to the room, which was her bedroom when she lived in this house with her Papa. She smiled, raised her hand to the door and allowed her fingers to trace over the rose blossom carved into the center of the door. Pressing her hand to the rough-hewn bloom, she bowed her head in silent prayer. Then, removing her hand from the door, she touched a kiss to her fingertips. She placed her hand back on the carving of the rose and turned her eyes heavenward.

"Help me, Lord. Help us both." She beseeched.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik raced through the dark alleys of La Rochelle. He could hear the angry shouts of the crowd chasing behind him. Disobeying his mother's rules, he had stolen out of his room and had visited the city under the sheltering cloak of nighttime's darkness. It was not the first time he had done this, nor was it the first time someone took note of his presence. It was simply the first time anyone actually caught sight of his masked face and was able to grab hold of him. Of course, his problem became infinitely more complex as the person holding his wrist refused to let go. By delaying his escape, his captor had the perfect opportunity to awaken the entire town, or so it seemed to the small boy.

He watched as an enraged mob responded to the cries of "Help, monster!"

The growing number of people caused him to panic. He twisted free of the old man's grasp and ran as if pursued by demons. He could hear the cries growing louder as the distance between him and the townsfolk decreased. Panting, he turned down an unfamiliar alley, only to find a dead end. He turned to retrace his steps and leave the alley to find his way blocked by the mob. The frightened child huddled in a pile of debris lying in the corner of the alley's end. He placed the masked side of his face against the brick wall and began to pray to God for someone to save him. He raised his hands over his head to protect himself from the onslaught he knew was coming. He peeked out between his arms to see that the first pursuer was almost upon him. He cowered lower into the corner, pulling a sheet of soggy newspaper over his head and felt his body begin to shake. Suddenly, time froze as the plaintively sweet sound of a violin wafted through the night air. After a moment, the sound of a woman's voice floated to join with the strains of the violin. The mob turned and became an entranced crowd. The boy lifted his head, batted the newsprint from his face and watched as the people slowly drifted back down the alley following the music away from him. He was alone, but for the angelic music, which surrounded him. He let the music flow through him and become one with his soul. The music allowed him to take wing and leave his pathetically frail body and twisted face behind to soar to the heavens. He forgot that he was a monster while he listened to that song and became simply, Erik. Nothing more, nothing less. All too soon, the music ended, but just as the final note faded, the voice of the woman spoke.

"It is time to face the music, Erik. It is time to face the fears and hurts of your past. It is the moment, when truth shall rule over lies and love will conquer all. Give yourself to the music. Follow the music that lives in your soul and you will find me there. We must find one another for it is only together that we shall truly hear the music again. With the music, our souls will join forever to soar free."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik's first thought was of the thing, which tickled his nose. His next thought, which was much more pleasant than the first, was that something delightfully soft, warm and desirable lay curled around him. He pulled the mass of tangles and curves close to his body and felt himself stiffen in response.

"Christine?"

His voice rumbled in his chest. He sneezed, which caused him to brush her curls away from his nose.

"Ma chéri? Wake up. It is morning. We need to go to the opera house today and take care of some unfinished business. We also need to check in with Madame Giry. I do believe she will think I have you trussed up and am holding you prisoner here in my bed. She may think that I refuse to allow you to leave my home if we do not visit her today. Christine?"

The woman mumbled and wrapped her arm tighter around his waist and threaded her leg through his.

"Ten more minutes, Madame. Just ten more minutes, s'il tu plait?"

Erik chuckled. He felt awareness creep into his wife's sleeping form and she stiffened when she realized that a male body lay next to her.

"Erik?"

He laughed quietly as she slapped his arm and he pulled her closer to press a needy kiss on her mouth.

"I had the strangest dream last night."

Erik fell silent and pulled back to look down into her face.

"I had two disturbing dreams myself, but I prefer not to think about them at the moment."

He nuzzled her neck and elicited a surprised yelp from Christine as he gently nipped along the length of her throat.

"What I would prefer to concentrate on right now is making love to my wife."

"Oh, Erik." She giggled as she playfully took him in her hand and squeezed him gently.

"Oh, Christine." He moaned. "You are the most incredible woman. I never dreamed I would ever find a woman willing to be with me, much less marry me. And then, I met you. I love you!"

"Well, Monsieur, it feels like you may be ready to show me just how much. I think I am ready for the touch of my master's hands."

He snorted and then his lips muffled her words and the room was quiet, but for the sounds of the lovers' cries of passion and pleasure.

**

* * *

Author's Note****: Hmmm … so, was it a dream or was it real? Kinda like ... was it live or was it Memorex? Next chapter, a visit to the opera house and hopefully, some answers. Thank you all for your great reviews. I appreciate them very much! Please continue to feed the kitty by reading and reviewing! MEOW! --ny

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**


	33. No One but No One

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**no one but no one**_

_**i lay in bed **__**  
**__**but not asleep **__**  
**__**i lay trapped deep within this torturous dread **__**  
**__**my body full of poison **__**  
**__**my mind full of demons **__**  
**__**i lay awake and yet i was dreaming**_

_**a book of poetry **__**  
**__**lay next to me **__**  
**__**a wondrous enchantment of shadows and themes **__**  
**__**my soul full of sorrow **__**  
**__**my heart full of song **__**  
**__**a world created here **__**  
**__**all tattered and wrong**_

_**your eyes are windows **__**  
**__**but not to your soul **__**  
**__**gazing through them **__**  
**__**but never taking them whole **__**  
**__**and all the while **__**  
**__**no one but no one **__**  
**__**ever finishes this **_

_**their song**_

_**Nyasia A. Maire – 2007**_

**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Three – No One but No One**

"Oh, Christine." He moaned. "You are the most incredible woman. I never dreamed I would ever find a woman willing to be with me, much less marry me. And then, I met you. I love you!"

"Well, Monsieur, it feels like you may be ready to show me just how much. I think I am ready for the touch of my master's hands."

He snorted and then his lips muffled her words and the room was quiet, but for the sounds of the lovers' cries of passion and pleasure.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Erik Destler! You are positively evil! I swear I shall die of mortification. Just you look at this. A love bite? How could you? You knew we were going to visit Madame today."

Christine's words became incomprehensible mutters as she leaned into the mirror and watched as she carefully applied the heavy pancake stage make-up to her neck with a small sponge. Erik chuckled very pleased with his mark.

"Well, ma chéri. You know what they say, do you not? Once branded, twice shy …."

"No, Erik. That is most definitely not, what they say. The saying is … once burned, twice shy. And, mon amour, thou hast best not tempt me or thou shall knowest the pain of true love's burn."

She arched an eyebrow at him as she gazed at his reflection in the mirror.

"_He seems so devilish, so cocky. Erik is normally so reserved, so proper. I wonder just what has gotten into him this morning."_

"How Shakespearean of you, ma chéri. Are you ready to leave?"

Sighing and shaking her head, she answered.

"I am dressed, but if I were to speak plainly, I am not ready to go to the opera house."

The mischievous twinkle in his eyes immediately extinguished. He stepped close to her side and placed his hand atop her shoulder.

"What is it, chéri?"

She looked up into his reflected eyes and studied him for a moment.

"_He really does not remember anything that happened last night. I do not know if that is a good thing or bad. Oh, Papa, I need your guidance now more than any other time in my life. If I could have one wish, it would be to speak with you and not the Angel of Music. I miss you, Papa. This is such a strange feeling for me. I am so unused to being unsure of what to do. When I was alone, it was easy. I was lonely, but I always knew what to do. I guess that the price of love is the uncertainty that comes with opening your heart to the whims of another. I need to learn more about the seven deadly sins. I know what they are, but how does one commit each sin. More importantly, how did my husband fall under their shadow? Well, I guess I have to visit the opera house's library if I am to find answers to my questions about the sins. As to Erik's commission of them, perhaps, Raoul can help me. After all, they have been friends for a long time."_

She started as Erik gave her shoulder a slight shake.

"Chéri? Where did you go? Your mind was a thousand leagues away from here. Are you certain everything is well with you?"

Christine placed her most sincere smile on her face and reassured her husband that all was well. He returned her smile after a moment and then held out his arm to her. She wrapped her hand about the crook of his elbow. Christine allowed him to lead her out of the house and into the awaiting carriage.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Honestly, Erik. I just need a moment to collect some books from the library and then I will return to my room. Perhaps, you could ask Madame to help you find Joseph. He should be able to loan us a couple burlap sacks for my things. I will meet you back here in no more than ten minutes. I promise!"

Her smile burned away any reservations the man felt and he simply nodded his acceptance.

She turned and hurried to the dusty, seemingly disorganized library. Most people would feel completely overwhelmed at the unsteady stacks of books piled in an apparently haphazard manner about the room, but not Christine. The girl had spent most of her free time in the library, organizing it and making lists of the books she found there. The mere fact the room had any bookcases at all was mainly due to Christine's pestering Raoul for them. The young Vicomte, realizing the library was the only place where the girl's melancholy was not as deep, happily acquiesced to her request and provided enough cases to fill the room. Unfortunately, the number of books owned by the opera house was greater than the room allocated to store them, but the girl made do with what she had. Acting as the unofficial librarian of the opera house, Christine was the one responsible for the rows of books, which lined the room's bookcases, as she had been the one to place them there. The remaining books simply had nowhere to go except on the floor, so that is exactly where Christine left them, organized, but without a shelf to call their own.

She had spent many an hour in this room studying geography, art, writing, mathematics, music, philosophy, science and history. If it had not been for her sorrow over her absent angel, the library would have made the girl happy in her life at the opera house. However, her missing angel drew her ever deeper and deeper into the pit of her private despair. Christine shook her head to clear her mind of the past. She knew exactly where the books she sought were and walked directly to the shelf containing them. She grabbed three books from an upper shelf and blew the dust from them. She ran her fingers over the gold-embossed three word title and then the single word subtitle. Her eyes took on a faraway look as she tilted her head in thought. She nodded once and then walking to the other side of the room, she bent and removed a single volume from the bottom shelf. This volume was thicker and heavier. Christine gasped as she almost lost her hold on the book, but with reflexes as quick as a cat, she adjusted her handhold and brought the book safely to join the first three books she chose. The gold-gilded edges of the book's pages glinted in the light of the room. Then, grasping the books close to her chest, she made her way back to the rooms, which she, until recently, shared with Meg and Madame.

She entered the Giry's quarters and smiled as she heard the sound of her husband's voice coming from her former bedroom. Her smile grew even wider as she recognized the second voice in the room.

"Joseph!" She exclaimed merrily.

She ran down the hall and without giving her actions a second thought, propelled her body at the short, burly man almost knocking him off his feet. Burying her face in his chest and wrapping her free arm around his waist, she cried.

"Oh, Joseph! I am so happy to see you! How are you? I wish you and Bertalde could have been at our wedding! Did no one invite the two of you? I am so sorry! I truly missed having you there. What happened?"

The older man laughed and then taking note of the dark expression, which had suddenly fallen onto the other man's face, he gently extricated his body from the young woman's embrace.

"Now, now, now!" He chuckled. "So many questions. Wherever shall I start first? And, what is that you are holding? You had best take care with those! You almost broke one of my ribs."

He held her by her shoulders at arm's length and examined the transformed young woman before him.

"_Can this truly be my sweet Christine? Is this the same child? The one that rarely spoke and almost never smiled? The first time I ever saw her act thusly was two nights before she wed. That must have been the night that she met this man. The man that is now her husband. It does my heart good to at long last see her so happy. No one deserves it more than her."_

He looked down at the bundle in her arms.

"Books, Madame Librarian?" He queried with a small smile.

Christine's eyes inadvertently shifted to her husband and then slid away. Joseph took note of her concerned glance, decided not to draw further attention to the matter and changed the subject.

"So, you have gone and gotten yourself married! And this is your husband, is he? Well, young man, Christine here is as close as Bertalde and I have to a daughter, so you best be treating her well or you shall hear of my dissatisfaction, Monsieur!"

Joseph's eyes twinkled as he winked at Christine. Erik caught the teasing tone of the man's voice and his scowl quickly turned into a chagrined smile. Joseph laughed and lightly clapped the younger man on the back.

"Ah, a man that can take a jest. You have done yourself well, lass. Monsieur, you must accept our invitation to supper at our home soon since we were not able to attend your wedding. We were visiting Bertalde's brother that day and we did not receive Madame Giry's note until we returned home the day following your wedding. I knew the lass would be returning for her things, so figured I would wait for her to come here and not interrupt your private time as a new husband and wife. Anyway, as I was saying, we would be most pleased for the two of you to come to supper."

Erik nodded.

"Soon, Monsieur Buquet. Allow us newlyweds to adjust to married life for a week or two. Then, we would be most pleased to accept your invitation. I am most interested in spending some time with you and your wife. Christine has told me of your kindness to her through the years."

"Awk! The girl is a sweeting! It is of no never mind to be kind to a lass such as her. Like I said afore, we think of the child like our own."

Christine, who was beet red with embarrassment, attempted to divert the topic of the conversation away from her by asking.

"So, Joseph, were you able to loan us some sacks for my things?"

"Now, lass! You know me! I found something much better than that! You did not want to be putting your things in burlap! You would be itching and a scratching forever! I found these old valises in the prop storage room. I thought you could use them. Then, we could return them and no one would ever be the wiser."

The man waved his hand towards her bed and Christine took note of the open cases there.

"Oh Joseph! You are a wonder! Thank you!"

Christine walked to the bed and spread the four books in her arms across the bottom of an empty valise.

"Well, Joseph, if you would excuse us. I need just a bit of privacy to pack my things. Um … you know … unmentionables and all." She mumbled and blushed prettily.

"Awk! Oh girl, of course, I am sorry! I was not thinking. Well, it was good to see you, lass. And, even better to meet you, Monsieur Destler!"

Christine gave Joseph a quick hug and then the man turned and held out his hand to Erik. There was only the slightest of pauses before Erik took the proffered hand in his and shook it.

"Yes, it was a pleasure meeting you, Monsieur Buquet. Truly, a pleasure."

"Oh lad, my name is Joseph. Please call me Joseph."

The older man drew the younger one in for an awkward hug.

"And, in that case, you must call me Erik. Thank you for everything, Joseph."

With a smile, nod and affectionate clap on Erik's upper arm, the older man moved away down the hall whistling.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Christine rested her back propped up on several pillows in the room she now shared with her husband.

"_It is difficult to think of this as my bedroom, but I suppose I will become used to it after a time."_

The errant thought briefly distracted her from her reading and she sighed. The books, while providing her with confirmation of her previous suppositions, had done nothing to help her in deciding what she needed to do to help Erik.

"_This is wrong. I told Erik that there would be no secrets between us. And yet, here I am keeping probably the most important event of our lives a secret from him. I cannot continue to do this. He needs to know. No. He has the right to know."_

She closed the open book on her lap and sighed again. Reaching her hand up, she began to massage her forehead in a vain attempt to release the headache forming there.

"I guess I shall just have to come out and tell him then." She spoke aloud.

The young woman almost jumped out of her skin as the subject of all her thoughts inquired.

"And, just what is it that you need to tell him, ma chéri?"

**

* * *

Author's Note****: Okay, here is my question: can anyone guess the titles of the four books Christine took from the library? I think that it's probably obvious as to which books she took, but I am curious if I made it too obvious. (By the way, yes, I know what books she took.) The clues are in this chapter. Hopefully, some are subtle and one of them is not so subtle.**

**Thank you for all of your continued reviews. I am so pleased that everyone seems to be enjoying this story. I was afraid that the last several chapters had been rather uneventful, but I am rather interested in seeing how the next chapter will play. I'm curious to see Erik's reaction to Christine's confession of their visit and her conversation with the Angel of Music. (Yes, even your Authoress doesn't know what's going to happen from chapter to chapter sometimes. Keeps it interesting for me as well!)**

**Please continue to read and review … I'll do anything for just one more review … mow your lawn … wax your car? Sure! --ny**

**P.S. If you'd like to see what your humble authoress and her daughter, Trystin, look like, pay a visit to my Profile Page!**

* * *


	34. Into the Ragged Meadow

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**if i have made, my lady, intricate**_

_**if i have made, my lady, intricate  
imperfect various things chiefly which wrong  
your eyes (frailer than most deep dreams are frail)  
songs less firm than your body's whitest song  
upon my mind – if i have failed to snare  
the glance too shy – if through my singing slips  
the very skillful strangeness of your smile  
the keen primeval silence of your hair**_

– _**let the world say, "his most wise music stole  
nothing from death" – **__**  
you only will create  
(who are so perfectly alive) my shame:  
lady through whose profound and fragile lips  
the sweet small clumsy feet of April came**_

_**into the ragged meadow of my soul.**_

_**e. e. cummings**_

**

* * *

****Chapter Thirty-Four – Into the Ragged Meadow**

"_This is wrong. I told Erik that there would be no secrets between us. And yet, here I am keeping probably the most important event of our lives a secret from him. I cannot continue to do this. He needs to know. No. He has the right to know."_

She closed the open book on her lap and sighed again. Reaching her hand up, she began to massage her forehead in a vain attempt to release the headache forming there.

"I guess I shall just have to come out and tell him then." She spoke aloud.

The young woman almost jumped out of her skin as the subject of all her thoughts inquired.

"And, just what is it that you need to tell him, ma chéri?"

"_Mon Dieu! I am not ready to tell him, but I refuse to lie to him. Angel, give me strength!"_

She chewed on her lower lip and met his concerned eyes with her appraising gaze.

"Mon amour, I must tell you about a dream that was not a dream."

She sighed and looked down at her hands, which lay folded on her lap. Erik walked to the bed and sat down on the edge next to her. He placed one of his hands atop hers and with the other one; he lifted her chin so he could look her in the eyes.

"Have you been reading Poe again, ma chéri?"

He chuckled, but Christine saw that his eyes were shadowed with worry over whatever she planned to tell him. She met his gaze warily and fervently hoped he could see the love she felt for him in her eyes. The man's smile faltered and became wan as he continued.

"Only the truth between us, Christine. Non?"

"Oui, Erik. Only the truth. I have not forgotten. After all, we promised one another. And, I am tired of secrets. Since I came to the opera house, my life seems too full of secrets and lies."

A single tear ran unnoticed down her cheek, leaving a crystalline trail of salt in its wake as she relayed to her husband all that happened during their visit to the abode of the Angel of Music.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik raced from his bedroom with the words of his wife echoing in his head and drowning out her cries of anguish as he attempted to flee from the confusion that threatened to overwhelm his mind.

"_Angel? Music? Sins? But, I have nothing to confess! I committed no such sins. That dream must have seemed very real to her, but I have done nothing! I feel so betrayed by her easy acceptance of my state of supposed sin. Yet, if an angel visited me, would I believe anything other than what the angel told me? Oh, Christine! What am I to think of all this? Angel or father? Wife or phantom? Who is upstairs waiting?"_

As he always did in times of great emotional distress, he felt a burning need to speak with his mother, the one person, until he met Christine, from whom he ever felt unconditional love and trust. His feet led him to his music room as tears blinded his eyes too thoroughly to see the way. He entered the darkened room and quickly moved about turning up the flames on the gas lamps until the room was bright as day. When he was satisfied with his banishment of the darkness, he allowed himself to collapse on the piano bench. Leaning forward, he placed his crossed arms atop the keyboard and heedless of the cacophony, rested his troubled head on his arms. He closed his eyes and imagined his mother sitting next to him. Her lovely face with its pale aristocratic features turned towards him. The love she felt for her son plainly etched upon her face. Emerald eyes framed with golden brown hair met eyes of a matching hue and hair of the deepest ebony. Age had only left the faintest of marks upon her flesh near the corners of her eyes and mouth. The corners of her mouth turned up with the slightest of smiles, which held only a wistful kindness.

"_What is wrong, my son?"_

He could imagine he heard the concern in her voice and a choked sob escaped his lips.

"_Mother? She believes that I have tarnished my soul with sins of a mortal nature. I know that when I was younger I gave into the rage in my soul, but Mon Dieu! I thought that battle won years ago. Why must my life be so hard? Was not being born with this face enough punishment? Must I now confess to dark deeds that my heart and soul never committed? Surely, if there truly is an Angel of Music, he would not require that I lay claim to sins I did not commit. Would that I had sinned as then I would not feel so hurt by these accusations."_

He imagined his mother placing her arm around his shoulder and giving him a slight hug.

"_Erik, God never places a burden upon us heavier than one that we can bear. Have faith! Son, do you love her?"_

He sat up and turned his head toward the image of the ghostly woman that he saw in his mind.

"_Yes!"_

The forcefulness and immediacy of his response disallowed any dispute of the truth of the man's answer.

"_Then believe in your love. Trust it. Perhaps, this is a test of your love. Maybe, Christine is the one suffering under the burden of past sins. I know not. I am simply a woman. I am no angel, but I am your mother and I know you did no wrong of that magnitude. Believe in love and it shall believe in you. Remember well the vows you spoke to her. Do not forsake her, my son. She needs you now more than ever before. You must help her find and face the truth."_

The man lowered his head once more and moaned into his arms. His shoulders shook and he wept bitter tears. He tried to open his heart to the love he felt for Christine and not allow his heart to harden against her and the rejection he feared he would soon face. His body began to rock as he unconsciously attempted to soothe himself and after a time, the man fell into a fitful sleep.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"No! Erik, please come back! I love you! I only wish to help you!"

The woman cried after the fleeing man, but to no avail. She turned and went to bury her face in her pillow. Instead of finding the soft comfort of feathers, she felt the hard leather cover of a book. Briefly, she felt her nose mashed flat against its stiff surface before she rose to examine its title.

"The Divine Comedy – Purgatorio." She murmured.

She sat up and moved the books to her night table. She looked again at the books she had borrowed. The King James' Version of The Holy Bible and the three books of The Divine Comedy – Purgatorio, Inferno and Paradisio by Dante. She had found the definitions and descriptions of the punishments for the sins, but not the means of absolving a person's soul.

"_Perhaps, exculpation is granted for these sins in the same manner as with all others. The sinner must truly repent and ask for forgiveness. I can only hope that it is so. Perhaps, I should speak with a priest."_

A voice sounded hollowly in the still room.

"Christine, perhaps you need to remember that confession is good for the soul …. And, seeing as you too have a soul, you must remember that you are included within this cliché."

Her wide brown eyes searched for the source of the voice, all to no avail.

"Who is there? Erik? Angel?"

A small, shadowy figure entered the bedroom doorframe.

"Who are you? Do not come any closer or I shall scream!"

A light laughter filled the room with its bell-like tones. Christine felt a cold finger of fear trace its shivering way up her spine.

"Do I know you?"

The laughter repeated, but this time the lightness was gone and replaced with a glowering snicker.

"Oh, you most definitely could say that you know me. Although, I know you have tried to bury me away many a time, I am free at last! Nice place you have here. I think I shall feel most at home here. Now, I am warning you, you had best keep quiet about my visit or …."

All color and emotion had drained from Christine's face as she finally recognized the owner of the voice.

"Or, I had best keep my hand at the level of my eyes."

**

* * *

Author's Note****: Sorry for the wait and the brevity of this chapter! I had this chapter halfway posted and then … a sudden inspiration struck me and I had to take it down and rewrite the entire chapter.**

**Well, several readers guessed about the books Christine borrowed from the opera house. No one guessed The Divine Comedy, but JackieLu and Timeflies did correctly guess about the Bible. I based my descriptions on editions of the books I have in my home's library.**

**Oh! I would like to welcome several new reviewers: Dancer of the Opera, DuoHarryVegeta, saucydeviant and DonJuanTriumphs … hope all of you continue to read and review!**

**Well, I once again apologize for the brevity of this chapter. I shall endeavor to supply you with a chapter of a more pleasing length for Chapter Thirty-Five!**

**Fondest wishes, --ny**

* * *


	35. The Ghost from the Tomb

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**The Hag**_

_**The hag is astride **__**  
**__**This night for to ride, **__**  
**__**The devil and she together; **__**  
**__**Through thick and through thin, **__**  
**__**Now out and then in, **__**  
**__**Though ne'er so foul be the weather.**_

_**A thorn or a burr **__**  
**__**She takes for a spur, **__**  
**__**With a lash of a bramble she rides now; **__**  
**__**Through brakes and through briars, **__**  
**__**O'er ditches and mires, **__**  
**__**She follows the spirit that guides now.**_

_**No beast for his food **__**  
**__**Dare now range the wood, **__**  
**__**But hush'd in his lair he lies lurking; **__**  
**__**While mischiefs, by these, **__**  
**__**On land and on seas, **__**  
**__**At noon of night are a-working.**_

_**The storm will arise **__**  
**__**And trouble the skies; **__**  
**__**This night, and more for the wonder, **__**  
**__**The ghost from the tomb **__**  
**__**Affrighted shall come, **__**  
**__**Call'd out by the clap of the thunder.**_

_**Robert Herrick**_

**

* * *

****Chapter Thirty-Five **–** The Ghost from the Tomb**

A light laughter filled the room with its bell-like tones. Christine felt a cold shiver of fear trace up her spine.

"Do I know you?"

The laughter repeated, but this time the lightness was gone and replaced with a glowering snicker.

"Oh, you most definitely could say that you know me. Although, I know you have tried to bury me away many a time, I am free at last! Nice place you have here. I think I shall feel most at home here. Now, I am warning you, you had best keep quiet about my visit or …."

All color and emotion had drained from Christine's face as she finally recognized the owner of the voice.

"Or, I had best keep my hand at the level of my eyes."

The voice seemed to fill the air about Christine's head, yet she knew the source of the voice stood before her. With a sense of bravery she never before experienced when dealing with this intruder, she continued.

"It would be best if you left before my husband returns."

A husky chuckle sounded before she heard the reply.

"And, what makes you think he will return to you? Think, Madame. Do you honestly believe he will return after you dealt him so deep a wound?"

Christine shook her head.

"I … I did nothing of the sort. I only kept my promise to him. I did not lie to him. I told him the truth."

A rather inelegant snort was the reply.

"The truth? And, just what is this truth of which you speak so passionately? Is it really the truth? Or, is it your truth? Is it his? There are three sides to every tale, Madame. Yours, his and the actual truth, which truth did you tell him?" The voice taunted.

"But, the angel told me …."

A howl of laughter silenced the woman's words as it surrounded her. She covered her ears, but even that action did nothing to lessen the noise.

"Madame, surely by now you must know that I cannot be made quiet that easily."

Christine dropped her hands to the bed, where they lay limply next to her thighs. Slowly, her hands clenched into fists of impotent rage.

"What is it that you want?"

Her clipped words escaped her mouth in staccato beats from jaws as tight as her fists. A long pause ensued as Christine watched in horror as the being slowly walked towards her. She sat frozen on the edge of the bed she shared with her husband and watched as her nightmare approached her. The shadow stepped into the light.

"Mon Dieu! No!"

Christine screamed and her eyes rolled back into her head. Her stiff body relaxed and slipped from the bed unconscious onto the floor.

"Oh no, my sweet. God shall not be of any assistance to you this night. You made me. You cannot rid yourself of me simply by willing it to be so. I protected you all those years at the opera house and now, you think you can reject me? If it were not so pathetic, it would be amusing. Oh no, now, it is my turn. I want to live."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik's head shot up from the keyboard.

"Christine!"

Her scream echoed throughout his house. In his haste to rise to his feet, the piano bench flew back and crashed to the floor unnoticed.

"_She needs me! Merde! Why did I ever leave her? If I had stayed with her she would not be in danger now."_

How he was certain of her peril, he did not know. He just knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Racing from the room, he took the stairs two at a time, flew down the hall and into his bedroom. He found Christine alone in their room, unconscious on the floor next to their bed. He raced to her side and scooped her up into his strong arms. Looking down onto the face of his beloved wife, he gasped in horror.

"Mon Dieu!"

Her eyes were open, but unseeing, revealing only the whites of her eyes. Gently and carefully, he lay her limp body down on the bed. He brushed her curls from her face and ran to fetch a cloth from the bathroom, which he wetted. Dabbing the cool cloth to her forehead, his eyes ran along her form looking for evidence of any injuries. Finding none, he laid the cloth on her forehead then taking hold of her shoulders, he tenderly shook her.

"Christine? Ma chéri? Christine? Please wake!"

He lifted her hands into his and lovingly placed kisses on the inside of her wrists. Her pulse beat strong beneath his lips. He raised his eyes to look upon her face. Releasing one of her hands, he raised his free hand to caress her cheek.

She blinked, sighed, closed her eyes and turned her head to the side effectively pinning Erik's hand between her cheek and the pillow. The man stared at her, worry furrowing his one perfect brow.

"Whatever is wrong, I will not abandon you. I refuse to allow my fears to drive me away from you. Christine, tu êtes la lumière précieuse de ma vie. Je ne permettrai pas à l'obscurité de tu emmener."**¹**

He whispered. Placing his free hand on her shoulder, he lifted the limp body to him and cradled her to his chest. He stroked her hair and kissed her cheek.

"_Very well, time to do something as it seems this is not helping her. Time to ask for help."_

Carefully, laying Christine back down on their bed, Erik examined her for a moment. Images of her in the throes of passion ran through his mind and he had to shake his head to clear them away.

"_That is most definitely not going to help matters. Think, Destler!"_

He distractedly ran his hand through his hair and his eyes happened upon the empty valises sitting near their wardrobe. A thought began to form and slowly took shape in his mind. He nodded.

"_Of course!"_

He gave the still form one more glance then turned and strode quickly from the room. He ran to the servants' wing and rapped firmly on the only set of double doors. He waited impatiently, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and then back again. He raised his hand to knock again, when the door opened a few inches.

"Elaine! I need you to wake Martin and send him to the opera house with the carriage. I need him to fetch Madame Giry and bring her here immediately. Have him tell her that Christine needs her tonight. It cannot wait until morning. Then I need you to come upstairs and bring a bottle of whiskey and the sal volatile **²** with you. Hurry, no questions, now! I will await you in the bedroom."

"Oui, Monsieur."

She nodded her head and closed the door. Erik turned to return upstairs. Before he could take two steps, he heard Elaine rush from her room and run down the hall to fetch Martin. He smiled grimly and ran back to join Christine in their room.

He silently entered the room and strode to the bed. His wife lay there, but she was no longer still. She tossed and turned as if she were struggling with someone. Her lovely face a grimacing mask and tears flowing freely from her eyes. Erik's heart blanched at the sight. He quickly moved to sit next to her and gathered her into his arms. He whispered words of love into her ear and rubbed her back, until it seemed to soothe her.

"Christine?"

He called to her, but she still made no conscious reply. She groaned sharply and then hissed before becoming silent once more. The man held her gently in his arms, feeling powerless to battle the unknown demons his wife faced in her dreams.

"Ma chéri, please wake! I cannot help you if I do not know what is wrong. Christine?"

The man turned as he felt another presence in the room. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Elaine! Please, come here. I found her on the floor unconscious. I need the salts, please!"

He held out his hand to her and watched as she carefully worked the stopper from the mouth of the bottle. She placed the open small clear-blue glass bottle in his hand. He looked at her questioningly.

"Just wave it beneath her nose long enough for her to take one or two breaths, but Monsieur, perhaps you would wish to wait for Madame Giry to arrive."

His shoulders sagged. He nodded and handed the bottle back to Elaine.

"Did you bring the whiskey?" He growled.

"Monsieur …. Erik …."

His head snapped around and his startled eyes met hers.

"That is the first time you ever called me by my Christian name. Do not concern yourself, Elaine. I simply wish for a small taste to settle my nerves. No more, no less."

Her head tilted and she studied him intently for a moment then offered him a larger bottle. He started.

"How do you do that?"

She frowned.

"What?"

"You are just like her. Well, almost." He nodded his head towards Christine. "She can make things disappear. You make them appear. Is this some womanly magic?"

"No, Erik. At least mine is not. It is simply a case of deep pockets." She smiled at him softly.

He snorted and gave a wry laugh.

"And, all this time I thought my housekeeper a master magician."

His hand left Christine to accept the bottle, but froze as his wife moaned and began to thrash wildly. Shaking his head at Elaine, he turned his attention back to Christine. Holding her firmly against his chest and rocking her. He hummed a gentle melody with his eyes closed as he smoothed her hair and rubbed her back.

Elaine realized he had forgotten all about her, so she took a seat by the bedroom door to await the arrival of Madame Giry.

"_What on earth is going on here?"_

The prim woman wondered, worried over her employer and his bride. She rested her eyes while waiting for the woman she hoped could tell her what in the world was happening to the lady of the house. She had almost fallen asleep when Christine's panicked voice snapped her eyes open.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik had almost fallen asleep while sitting propped against Christine. He came awake instantly as he felt her body stiffen in his arms and he prepared himself for her flailing and thrashing arms. The sound of her angry voice stunned him.

"No! You cannot have him! He is mine!"

He held her away from him to see if she were awake or having another nightmare. Her eyes were open and fixed on something behind him. He turned his head and for a fleeting moment, he saw Christine dressed entirely in black standing there with eyes that glowed bright, burning amber. He blinked once and she was gone. His attention drawn back to the weeping woman he held in his arms.

"I thought she was gone! I thought my sins forgiven. I shall never rid myself of her now. She shall haunt me to my dying day!"

And, then Erik felt his blood run cold as his wife threw her head back and laughed. The sound, which issued from her mouth the cackle of an ancient crone. He watched in horrified fascination as her eyes rolled up to show only the whites, but the laughter still poured from her mouth.

A laughter, which sounded as if it came directly from the depths of hell.

**

* * *

¹ Translation** – _"Christine, you are the precious light of my life. I shall not allow darkness to take you."_

**² Sal volatile** – smelling salts, which is a misnomer as "smelling salts" are, in fact, a liquid. The name comes from the base ingredient, which is ammonium carbonate, a salt with a white crystalline structure. Mix ammonium carbonate with water, in the case of "aromatic spirits of ammonia," or perfume, the reaction creates fumes, which rise from the salts. When placed under someone's nose, the fumes irritate the mucus membranes of the nose, throat and lungs, stimulating the body to breathe more quickly. Thereby causing a person in a faint to revive. Smelling salts can also alleviate a headache, but exposure to ammonia fumes is dangerous as they accumulate in the system and can cause permanent damage. My mentioning them in this chapter is not a recommendation in favor of their use, but as they were in common use at the end of the 19th Century, I incorporate their use as a typical treatment of the period.

* * *

**Author's Note: I promised you a longer chapter and I hope this fulfills my promise. I also believe it supplied everyone with a bit of a shock. After all, Christine believed her sins forgiven and had said as much to the Angel of Music. However, one can only find forgiveness when one accepts responsibility for their sins and then truly repents. Christine divorced herself from her sins by making all of her wrongdoings the fault of the Opera Ghost. She is now reaping what she has sown. Don't worry, though, Erik's personality may be much tamer in this story, but when it comes to Christine, he's still just as obsessively in love with her as he is when he's the Phantom. He still has more than a bit of a temper, too! As we shall soon see.**

**All of your reviews have been so great! I thank you for your continued support and send out cyber-doughnuts and brownies to all of you! Also, a great, big thank you to Auntie Lisa for asking Trystin to spend the night. I never would have been able to get this chapter out this quickly if it weren't for her! --ny**

* * *


	36. A Poison Tree

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**A Poison Tree**_

_**I was angry with my friend: **__**  
**__**I told my wrath, my wrath did end. **__**  
**__**I was angry with my foe: **__**  
**__**I told it not, my wrath did grow.**_

_**And I water'd it in fears, **__**  
**__**Night & morning with my tears; **__**  
**__**And I sunned it with smiles, **__**  
**__**And with soft deceitful wiles.**_

_**And it grew both day and night, **__**  
**__**Till it bore an apple bright; **__**  
**__**And my foe beheld it shine, **__**  
**__**And he knew that it was mine, **_

_**And into my garden stole **__**  
**__**When the night had veil'd the pole: **__**  
**__**In the morning glad, I see **__**  
**__**My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.**_

_**William Blake**_

**

* * *

****Chapter Thirty-Six – A Poison Tree**

And then, Erik felt his blood run cold as his wife threw her head back and laughed. The sound, which issued from her mouth, the cackle of an ancient crone. He watched in horrified fascination as her eyes rolled up to show only the whites, but the laughter still poured from her mouth.

A laughter, which sounded as if it came directly from the depths of hell.

He attempted to calm her, but after the initial fit of laughter, Christine remained silent. Her white eyes seemed to stare at him, challenging him to speak, as she lay propped up against the headboard on pillows. He sat on the edge of the bed next to her, holding her hands, his long, graceful fingers tracing nervous patterns on the backs of her hands. After a time, she shuddered and her eyes rolled back down. He gazed into her unseeing eyes as she sat next to him, but he could see that her mind was somewhere far away from him and her lips moved in silent conversation with whomever it was she could see.

"_Oh, Christine! Please come back to me."_

He bowed his head and his eyes squeezed shut to banish the tears from his eyes.

"_I am afraid …."_

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The woman rested her weary body in the embrace of the well worn comfort of her beloved armchair. Staring into the depths of the flames burning brightly in her fireplace, her mind jumping back and forth between worrying over the daughter of her heart and the daughter of her womb. She shivered and drew the belt on her robe tighter and awkwardly scooted her chair closer to the fire. She was so unused to worrying over Christine, as she had never seemed to need anyone in the years she had been at the opera house. To see the girl so openly in love stirred something in Antoinette … something that frightened her and she did not understand the reason why. Her worry for Meg, she well understood the cause and only hoped that her child's heart would not be broken.

"_Christine, now that is another matter entirely. On the day of her wedding, I thought I was free of worrying over her, but how can I not worry? I believe her husband has no idea of her past, but I do not know for certain what he knows. Merde! Christine does not even know her past completely. I tried to tell myself that the girl was simple. I tried to tell myself that the girl was mad. I only wish that either of those were true. I know the ghost showed itself to Monsieur Destler. He has no idea, but I believe the ghost was very much present and in control of Christine the night she and Monsieur Destler met. I believe only the presence of her Angel banished the ghost from her that night. And, ever since her young man asked her to marry him, the haunted look that was forever in her is gone from her eyes. I only hope that it remains gone, but I fear that is a foolish wish. The child is broken in two and it is only a matter of time or circumstance that will allow the Opera Ghost to rise from the depths of Christine's soul."_

The woman closed her eyes and thought back to the day she found the child desperately clutching her father's remains. While it had been bitterly cold, death had still worked its hand over the body of Christine's beloved father. Antoinette shivered as she remembered the bloated and blackened corpse the girl refused to release from her small hands.

"_It is a wonder her mind ever found a way out of the darkness that claimed it."_

The girl that Antoinette guided through the motions of the funeral was not the bright and bubbly child that she remembered. The girl was gruff, angry and sullen. She had lashed out at Antoinette and cut her cheek with her fingernails when the woman tried to dress her for the funeral, all the while screaming that her father was not dead. She had also cursed Antoinette, using language that shocked the woman.

"_Where she heard such things, I have no idea. I know that Gustave never used such words."_

She shook her head sadly.

The child seemed to emerge from the spell, which held her in its grasp after she had been at the opera house for several months. She would on occasion, slip back, but for the most part, Christine had been so quiet and reclusive, Antoinette had allowed the girl to do as she wished.

"_If I had just paid more attention to her, perhaps I would not be so worried now, but life was hectic. Meg was only five years old and between working and caring for the girls' physical comforts, I had little time to worry over Christine's reticence. In a way, her silence was a relief, but then … then, when Christine was 16, the accidents started."_

It had begun simply enough, scraps of parchment dropped from the flies with childish scrawling in blood red ink ordering different members of the ballet corps or the chorus to improve their performance. After the notes, came the pranks … pointe shoes missing or with the ribbons tied into horrendous knots, costumes switched or torn and props forever "misplaced."

"_It seemed harmless. And, damn me to Hell! I even encouraged it by asking her to add things to her notes, but then Carlotta came to the Populaire. And, the foolish Italian diva not only paid no attention to the opera ghost's demands, she mocked the ghost."_

And, the ghost fought back. The woman's wigs were ruined, her costumes slashed into ribbons, she found her dog locked in a trunk that had no key, ties removed from her much-needed corsets and her stage make-up replaced with backdrop scenery paint. The diva, however, refused to bow to the ghost's demands and steadfastly ignored the warnings contained in the notes.

"_Oh, yes. She scoffed at my concern over her paying no heed to the warnings contained in the ghost's notes. She loudly proclaimed she did not fear the ghost and refused to listen even to the managers' concerns for her safety. She laughed at all of us. She even ridiculed me before the cast and crew just before she went on stage the night she played Juliet. She derided me for only wishing her to be safe. The ridiculous woman could not sense the tension seething in the air, not until it was too late."_

Antoinette leaned her head into her hands and fought back tears of horror and desolation.

"_Everyone knew it was the ghost, but no one could prove anything. And, our suspicions changed nothing. Carlotta was dead. The prop dagger used in the lover's death scene replaced with a real dagger. The proud, foolish woman had not noticed and plunged the real dagger into her bosom. The police proclaimed it an accidental death, but I am not so certain. My heart fears it was the ghost's work. And, I am just as guilty as she is for I did nothing. I said nothing. I looked the other way and pretended that nothing was wrong. Oh! My poor Christine, the Opera Ghost. I only hope I worry over nothing now."_

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The boy ran through the darkened halls of the opera house led by a groomsman from the stables. The man still groggy with sleep only nodded at a door and without a word quickly left the boy to return to the warmth of his bed. Martin hesitated only a moment before pounding his fist on the door. Leaning his head against the rough wood, he listened for the sound of footsteps. When he heard none, he thumped on the door again. This time, he heard a muffled reply and he sighed with relief. As soon as the door began to open, he blurted out his message.

"I need Madame Giry to accompany me to the Destler residence. Monsieur Destler requested she come immediately. It is an emergency and cannot wait until morning! Madame Destler needs her to come tonight. Are you Madame Giry?"

The stern woman looked down on the distraught boy and nodded. He visibly sagged with relief.

"Wait here. I will be just a moment, child."

The woman disappeared behind the door, but allowed it to remain open. Faint sounds emerged from the room. The boy saw the woman walk past the door and down a dark hall. She knocked on an unseen door and before waiting for a reply, opened the door and quickly entered the room. The boy could hear the sound of his heartbeat thudding in his ears and he began to chew on the inside of his cheek.

"_If something happens to Madame Destler because I took too long, I will never forgive myself."_

The boy fretted and fidgeted. He was amazed that he felt such deep affection for someone he had just met, but the new mistress of the house had something about her that drew people to her immediately. Her kindness and beauty had the entire staff captivated. Also, her affect on Monsieur Destler's temperament had not gone unnoticed by everyone in the household. Transformed completely by his bride's presence in his life, the once gruff and easily angered man now laughed often and the upstairs maids now found him charming. Martin hoped with every fiber in his body that whatever ailed his new mistress, this woman would help her.

After a moment that seemed like an eternity to the boy, the woman he now knew as Madame Giry returned. She paused, grabbed a walking stick from an umbrella stand and took a heavy cloak off a hook on the wall near the door. Swinging the cloak about her shoulders, she inclined her head to the boy as she fastened it at her throat.

"Well, boy, stop your gawping and let us be off. Do you know the way to the stables?"

He blushed and shook his head looking at his feet in embarrassment.

"Have no fear. I know the way. Now … hmmm … what is your name, boy?"

"My name is Martin Estes, Madame."

She nodded and placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Very good, Martin. Now, follow me. We cannot delay a moment longer."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Her teeth now chattering with the cold after her ride in the open carriage, Antoinette stepped stiffly to the cobblestone drive. She held on tight to the side of the carriage as her feet tested the ground for ice, but found none. She rolled her eyes heavenward and gave a sigh of relief.

"_Thank God for small miracles. Now, if we can only have a miracle granted to us this night inside this house, I will be forever grateful, Lord."_

Releasing her hold on the carriage, she nodded at Martin who clucked to the brown mare. As the conveyance clattered away, the woman straightened and placed her body into the formidable posture that frightened the ballet rats. With head held high, she carefully climbed the four steps to the front door. She leaned her head back slightly and rolled it from shoulder to shoulder to relieve the tension in her neck. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath and then released it slowly. Opening her eyes, she raised her hand to the door knocker and held the freezing metal in her hand. She rapped firmly twice, released the knocker and waited, allowing her practiced air of calm to envelope her person.

A young girl, probably a scullery maid judging by her clothes, opened the door and beckoned Antoinette inside. After taking the woman's cloak and without saying a word, the girl led the woman upstairs, down an elegant hall and stopped in front of a door. The girl dropped a small curtsey to Antoinette and hurried away. She knocked softly on the door and it opened almost at once. Antoinette met Elaine's worried eyes and tried to smile. The housekeeper beckoned the guest into the room and stepped aside to reveal a sight, which caused Antoinette's heart to clench in pain.

Christine lay on a large bed with her eyes staring sightlessly ahead of her. As she approached the bed, Antoinette realized the girl's mouth moved in silent conversation. A tear ran unknowing down her cheek, as her attention turned to the room's other occupant. Erik Destler sat on the bed next to his wife desperately clutching her hands in his. With his head bowed, he rocked his body back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Antoinette's hand flew to her chest and she took half a step back, but stopped as she quickly recovered her composure. She walked to the man's side and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He turned to look up at her and Antoinette squeezed his shoulder gently. She gasped as he released his wife's hands and wrapped his long arms about her hips, drawing her to him. He buried his face against her waist and cried. The startled woman stared down at the sobbing man, her hands held up in the air in shock. After a moment, she placed her arms around the man.

"Hush! Hush, now! It will be all right, Erik. Everything will be all right."

She only hoped her words were true.

**

* * *

Author's Note****: Well, a disturbing bit of Christine's past and I hope this chapter helps better explain some of Christine's actions in the beginning of the story.**

**Okay, I'm trying to reassure myself that the reason the last two chapters received fewer reviews than previous ones is it's the Fourth of July holiday and everyone (but me) is out of town! Please massage the author's tattered ego by reading and reviewing! I know you can do it! Aw … please? Fondest wishes! --ny

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**


	37. The Eye of the Little God

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**Mirror**_

_**I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. **__**  
**__**What ever you see I swallow immediately **__**  
**__**Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike. **__**  
**__**I am not cruel, only truthful – **__**  
**__**The eye of a little god, four-cornered. **__**  
**__**Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. **__**  
**__**It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long **__**  
**__**I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers. **__**  
**__**Faces and darkness separate us over and over. **__**  
**__**Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me, **__**  
**__**Searching my reaches for what she really is. **__**  
**__**Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon. **__**  
**__**I see her back, and reflect it faithfully. **__**  
**__**She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands. **__**  
**__**I am important to her. She comes and goes. **__**  
**__**Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness. **__**  
**__**In me, she has drowned a young girl, and in me, an old woman **__**  
**__**Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.**_

_**Sylvia Plath**_

**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Seven – The Eye of a Little God**

Christine lay on a large bed with her eyes staring sightlessly ahead of her. As she approached the bed, Antoinette realized the girl's mouth moved in silent conversation. A tear ran unknowing down her cheek, as her attention turned to the room's other occupant. Erik Destler sat on the bed next to his wife desperately clutching her hands in his. With his head bowed, he rocked his body back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Antoinette's hand flew to her chest and she took half a step back, but stopped as she quickly recovered her composure. She walked to the man's side and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He turned to look up at her and Antoinette squeezed his shoulder gently. She gasped as he released his wife's hands and wrapped his long arms about her hips, drawing her to him. He buried his face against her waist and cried. The startled woman stared down at the sobbing man, her hands held up in the air in shock. After a moment, she placed her arms around the man.

"Hush! Hush, now! It will be all right, Erik. Everything will be all right."

She only hoped her words were true.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"_It is so dark! Why is it so dark? And, that voice! Mon Dieu! That voice … so harsh, so ugly, so hated! Who is that? Wait, I know that voice. Oh, no!"_

Christine shuffled carefully along in the pitch dark. She cautiously skated one foot forward and then the other with her arms outstretched, grasping for purchase with anything solid. Her breath sounding harsh and loud in her own ears. Even though she could see nothing, the young woman closed her eyes, tilted her head and listened. She wished to catch the import of the murmured words echoing and bouncing about her.

"Vandal! Thief! Liar! Murderess!" The ancient voice hissed.

"Which level of hell is your destination, Madame? What punishment awaits you?" It croaked.

Placing her hands defiantly on her hips and raising her chin against the darkness, Christine replied.

"You cannot frighten me with your empty threats. You have no power over me any more."

A low growl ran through the air surrounding the woman in an angry embrace.

"Ma petite belle, I have power over you … have you forgotten? I am you!"

Violently shaking her head in denial, Christine turned and twisted as she tried to locate the source of the voice.

"No! No, you were never me, you used me!"

"As I recall, you were quite willing. After all, did I not protect you from all of your enemies just as I promised?"

"You lied! I had no enemies other than the ones you created in my mind. Too late, I discovered your deception. You are the serpent, the promise of the apple and the shame after the fall from grace. You are abomination. You found an innocent, a defenseless child and lied to her, but you can lie to me no longer. I know better now. I am stronger than you know."

"You may know better now, but you are an innocent no longer. Your innocence can no longer protect you."

Christine's body stilled immediately. She stood tall, her shoulders straightened and her chin lifted in answer to the voice's challenge.

"You do not frighten me. I lost my innocence honestly and without shame. You are not me! You deceived me. I was but a child when first you came to me. You are the one that lied and I gave you my trust blindly. I will do that no longer."

The voice cackled and Christine wondered how she had ever trusted that thing, that hideous hag. She blinked into the darkness, her eyes still seeking light in the ebony blackness. And, then Christine cried out in surprise as a light suddenly shone down upon her. The light, brighter than any light she had seen before and a blue-white in color, stunned her for the briefest of moments. The woman narrowed her eyes and waited.

Silence permeated the area allowing Christine time to settle her nerves. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. She continued to wait. After an interminable time, the woman impatiently began to drum her fingers against her elbow. More silence and waiting. Soon, her foot began a solitary tap dance, accompanying the staccato beat of her fingers.

"_No. Impatience is exactly what the hag wants. It will cause me to make a mistake, to act in haste or emotionally. I will not fall prey to that trap ever again. Calm. I must be calm. This light … what is this light. Is it from the hag?"_

The woman allowed her defenses to drop slightly and allowed the light to touch her soul.

She gasped.

"_It is not the hag! This light protects me from her."_

"Angel? Is that you? Angel?"

As if in answer, sweet music flooded the air around her. The hag let out a cry of fury and desperation, but Christine held onto the light, drawing it deep within her soul.

"Angel of Music, I need your guidance now more than ever before. Help me to find my way back into the light. Help me to find the path back to my husband's side. Bring me back to God's good graces. Help me, please! I no longer wish to wander in winter. I need to live in the warmth of the sun and the light of love. No more do I wish to remain hidden in darkness. Help me to find forgiveness!"

A voice echoed all around her, but it was not the hag. The voice sounded familiar and comforting as an old, but beloved blanket as it surrounded her.

"My child, your sincere desire and you asking for forgiveness is all that was ever required. I am most pleased to inform you, Christine, you are forgiven."

The voice caressed her and the light held her tightly in its loving embrace as she heard the screeching protests of the hag.

"No! You cannot have her! She is mine! She is mine! She is mine! She is …."

Her screaming voice suddenly cut off as a low, booming voice responded sternly.

"Lilith! Begone! I cast thee back into the regions of hell. I send you back to lie with your demon children, the incubi and the succubae. Begone and trouble this woman-child no longer. She has asked and so it is that the Lord doth grant. I say it this final time, begone!"

Christine saw the hag's face whip about the edges of the light, circling faster and faster, until her face seemed to surround her in one constant blur. The only thing recognizable, the open mouth screaming her anger with fangs bloody and dripping with gore. She buried her face into her hands.

"Oh! Mon Dieu! I shall pray each and every day that I am worthy of the forgiveness you grant me. Thank you!"

The woman sobbed and it seemed that the light took the form of a pair of wings, which lovingly wrapped the small woman's body in their embrace.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Mon Dieu!"

The startled exclamation brought Erik out of his embrace of Madame Giry's waist. He turned and found Christine bathed in a light brighter than any he had ever witnessed. However, as he stared at Christine, he realized that the light did not surround her, but emanated from her.

"What in the world?"

The man began to turn to his wife with outstretched arms, but his actions quickly halted by the woman standing next to him.

"No, Monsieur! Wait! Do not interfere! Something important is happening. Look! It is the Angel of Music! Can you not see him?"

**

* * *

Author's Note****: Sorry everyone for the unusual delay! I planned on having this chapter up and ready on Friday, but Trystin's Wii System arrived and I had to set it up for her, then I took her and her best friend to Disneyland yesterday. (We have Annual Passes.) I made the mistake of forgetting the key to my mobility scooter, so I walked/dragged my carcass around Disneyland and California Adventure for 8 hours. The girls had a blast, but I'm pretty much a basket-case now. I can barely raise my arm to type. Dragging my body around is hell on my bursa, so tomorrow I'm off to the doctor to have it injected. Also, did I mention that my left hand is swollen and sore from gripping my cane? Oh well, walking behind the two girls, watching them with their arms draped around one another's shoulders makes it all worth it. I shall treasure that memory always. I rested all day today and I wrote the last 500 words of this chapter, but I need to go ice my shoulder. Sorry, I can't write everything I intended to have in this chapter, but I promise the next chapter will be most pleasing!**

**Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews … DonJuanTriumphs and The Lonely Child are the only two reviewers that I could not respond to personally, but as soon as my shoulder cooperates, I shall most certainly respond personally.**

**Please feed the kitty – read and review!!! --ny**

* * *


	38. In Music to my Haunted Heart

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**The Abiding Presence**_

_**Sorely our souls to each are ever near, **__**  
**__**Twain harps that mix one music; for today, **__**  
**__**As far in love's high reverie I lay, **__**  
**__**One memory of thee, I seemed to hear **__**  
**__**Thy voice within my breast – a chord so clear **__**  
**__**That as advancing seas the moon obey **__**  
**__**So the soul's waters trembled to thy sway, **__**  
**__**Thy presence, Sweet, attested by a tear.**_

_**O great companionship! Seraphic grief! **__**  
**__**O consecration and undying flame! **__**  
**__**Shall Sorrow breathe what mystery thou art? **__**  
**__**Shall Love find here thy kiss, forlornly brief, **__**  
**__**Or speak the sense of worship in thy name **__**  
**__**Told now in music to my haunted heart.**_

_**George Sterling**_

**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Eight – In Music to my Haunted Heart**

"Mon Dieu!"

The startled exclamation brought Erik out of his embrace of Madame Giry's waist. He turned and found Christine bathed in a light brighter than any he had ever witnessed. However, as he stared at Christine, he realized that the light did not surround her, but emanated from her.

"What in the world?"

The man began to turn to his wife with outstretched arms, but his actions quickly halted by the woman standing next to him.

"No, Monsieur! Wait! Do not interfere! Something important is happening. Look! It is the Angel of Music! Can you not see him?"

Erik's gaze followed Madame's pointing finger upwards and gasped. A young man seemed to be peering through the room's ceiling, looking down upon the still form of his wife. The man's chocolate brown curls and earthen-hued eyes proved to Erik that this was, indeed, Christine's beloved Papa. The man who had become her Angel of Music. He licked his bottom lip and found his entire mouth had gone dry as dust.

"Are you the angel of which Christine spoke?" He rasped. "Are you Christine's Angel of Music?"

The young man looked away from the still form on the bed and Erik found himself looking into eyes, which held a well of kindness and sympathy. The young man smiled sadly and nodded.

"You must help her. Her trial has only just begun. This child must face the dark deeds performed through her and supposedly on her behalf. Remembering these acts will be painful, but she must face them. She asked for forgiveness, but she knows not what things she has done that require absolution. Your gentle guidance is of the utmost importance. She needs your love and understanding. Do not desert her or she shall be forever lost to the darkness."

Erik blinked and his brow furrowed with annoyance.

"I would never do such a thing. I love her!"

"That is well for she needs all of your love, devotion and understanding. She is worth it, Monsieur. Never fail to remember this. She is a treasure worth saving."

Erik smiled grimly.

"That, Monsieur le Ange, is a truth that I know only too well. And, it is a truth I shall not ever forget. But, how can I help her? I know not what she has done …."

Madame Giry interrupted Erik's words and spoke in a serious voice.

"I know what the Opera Ghost has done. I will help her to remember. I owe it to her and to you, Gustave. I am so sorry I did not keep my promise and watch over her better."

The young man's smile this time reached his eyes.

"Antoinette, do not go so hard on yourself. You had no way of knowing that Christine had taken refuge under the wing of a fallen angel. Lilith can be so charming when she wishes and she wanted Christine. I was but the simple spirit of a man at the time and could do naught, but watch and bide my time. Now, however, I can be of some help. Now, I have some power to control Lilith."

"But, Gustave … who is this Lilith?" Whispered Madame.

"You know not the name of Lilith? Come! Come! Some say she is the true first wife of Adam, some say she is the consort of Lucifer. One story tells of how Lilith, while looking through one of her mirrors into our world, came to possess a foolish and narcissistic young girl. The girl's mother bought a mirror as a present for her daughter and hung it in her bedroom. The mother did not know it, but the mirror had a curse set upon it. The mirror once graced the walls of a den of Lilith's demon children. Lilith often looked through the mirror to observe her children in the world of mortals. Wherever the mirror went, the demoness within went with it. Lilith loved to sing and used her voice to help ensnare the girl. The girl spent more and more time gazing at herself in the mirror and listening to Lilith's sublime song, each time drawing further and further into Lilith's web of deceit. Lilith watched the girl's every move. Biding her time, one day Lilith slipped out and possessed the girl through her eyes. Seizing control of the vain girl, Lilith was able to dominate the girl's every move. Driven by the evil of Lilith's wishes, the girl allowed her own baser desires to control her. She became promiscuous and in the end a whore who broke her parent's hearts.

I, however, believe this poem describes her best."

"_**Dark is she, but brilliant! **__**  
**__**Black are her wings, black on black! **__**  
**__**Her lips are red as rose, kissing all of the Universe! **__**  
**__**She is Lilith, who leadeth forth the hordes of the Abyss, **__**  
**__**and leadeth man to liberation! **__**  
**__**She is the irresistible fulfiller of all lust, seer of desire. **__**  
**__**First of all women was she – Lilith, not Eve was the first! **__**  
**__**Her hand brings forth the revolution of the Will **__**  
**__**and true freedom of the mind! **__**  
**__**She is KI-SI-KIL-LIL-LA-KE, **__**  
**__**Queen of the Magic! **__**  
**__**Look on her in lust and despair!"¹**_

"Lilith is the Queen of Magic and lives trapped in the Otherworld. The doorway to the Otherworld lies within every mirror. They say that every mirror is a passage into the Otherworld and leads to the cave where Lilith went after she abandoned for all time, Adam and the bliss of Eden. In this cave, Lilith takes demon lovers, who father upon her multitudes of demons. Her demonic children flock from the cave and infest the mortal world. When these demons wish to move back and forth between the Otherworld and the mortal world, they simply find the nearest mirror and travel through it. However, until Lilith can completely possess a human body, one with a pure soul, she cannot traverse between worlds. She remains only a shadow and a voice in our world. She wished to use Christine for that purpose and she would have succeeded, but for …. Erik!"

The distraught man, who had ignored the Angel and Madame's soft conversation, had taken Christine into his arms. The light no longer shone from the young woman and she appeared asleep. He sat on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair and softly murmuring words of comfort and love into his beloved's ear.

At the sound of his name, the man started and looked up.

"Yes?" His response came out gruffly, his throat still raw from weeping.

"Take care. Lilith detests mortal men and loves to do them harm."

The man protectively cradled the woman closer to his chest and spoke defiantly.

"I am not afraid of my wife. I believe our love is stronger than this demoness and I shall not shun my wife for fear of what might be."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

For the second time that night, someone knocked on the door of the Giry residence. Unlike the previous messenger, this herald brought tidings of great joy to the younger Giry. Meg clutched the note to her breast and sighed with relief.

"_I almost thought that he had given up on us when he did not visit today as he promised. I should have known better. His heart is true. Oh! I can hardly believe it! Maman and I are to call upon the Marquis and Marquise de Chagny. Mon Dieu! I need to speak with Raoul about this and ask him what we need to do. I wish Christine were here. She listens to my wailing and is so patient, but now she is sick. Lord, watch over her and guide her. Please help her through this illness."_

She raised her eyes and breathed.

"Dieu, vous êtes gracieux ce jour-ci à moi. Je prie vous êtes gracieux avec Christine aussi."**²**

She bowed her head for a moment in silent prayer for the young woman she loved as much as she would love a sister. Wiping away an errant tear, she frowned.

"_It just is not fair! Has she not had enough pain in her life? Christine has never been sick a day since she came to live in the opera house. Now, she is newly married, happy and now she becomes sick? I know I should not question you, Lord, but sometimes I do not understand you. It just seems so cruel. However, I shall refrain from blaspheming and say, thy will be done."_

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

She lay in the long, green grass. Somewhere nearby a stream flowed making its lazy music in the still afternoon. Lying in the shade of a weeping willow, she watched the white fluffy clouds drift through the sky. One of the clouds reminded her of something she had seen before, but she could not put her finger on it. Her chin itched where the healing stitches tickled her. Carefully, she rubbed the offending bandage.

"Christine? Did the doctor not tell you to keep your fingers away from your chin?"

"But, Papa! It scratches me!"

A jolly chuckle and a well-loved face hovers upside-down above her.

"Not scratches, Christine. It itches. You can scratch an itch, but you cannot itch a scratch. Besides, if it itches, then that means it is healing, so it will not bother you soon."

The man paused and coughed for a moment.

"Papa?"

"Yes, ma ange?"

"When the doctor comes to take out my stitches, will you have him give you medicine for your cough? You have had it for a long time and I want it to go away!"

The man looked away and sighed. His eyes suddenly hooded and distant.

"Of course, Christine, but I do not believe the doctor's medicine will do me any good. I have never had much luck with doctors. Now, ma petite, I do believe it is time for us to go earn our daily bread. Are you ready to sing for me?"

The child rolled over onto her stomach and grinned. Scrambling to her feet, she giggled.

"Oh, Papa! I am always ready to sing for you, just as long as you play for me!"

The man held out his hand to his child and she happily placed her small one in his large one. He bent and scooped up a battered violin case. The two began to walk back to the small village by the sea.

"Papa, do you believe in Angels?"

The man stopped and turned to his daughter.

"Of course, child. Why would you ask such a thing?"

"Well, when I was lying in the grass, I thought I saw a beautiful young man peering down at me from the sky. He looked like you, but younger."

"Oh, Christine! You silly goose! You must have fallen asleep and dreamed it. You have no need of an angel, I am with you."

She smiled brightly.

"I know, Papa, but it seemed so real."

The pair continued walking to the village, hand in hand and was soon lost in the early evening fog, which crept in from the sea.

**

* * *

¹** _**"Lilith Ritus"**_ – From the German, By: Joseph Max 

**²** **Translation:** "God, you are gracious this day to me. I pray you are gracious with Christine also."

* * *

**Author's Note****: Well, I had my shoulder injected and all is well now with my poor abused bursa.**

**I need to ask everyone to help me out here. There are things happening on many different levels, dreams, angels, demons and reality. Confused, much? Let me know by reviewing!**

**Thanks! --ny**

* * *


	39. The Boy with the Bow beside You

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**Gypsy Songs**_

_**The faery beam upon you,  
**__**The stars to glister on you;  
**__**A moon of light  
**__**In the noon of night,  
**__**Till the fire-drake hath o'ergone you!  
**__**The wheel of fortune guide you,  
**__**The boy with the bow beside you;  
**__**Run ay in the way  
**__**Till the bird of day,  
**__**And the luckier lot betide you!**_

_**To the old, long life and treasure!  
**__**To the young all health and pleasure!  
**__**To the fair, their face  
**__**With eternal grace  
**__**And the soul to be loved at leisure!  
**__**To the witty, all clear mirrors;  
**__**To the foolish, their dark errors;  
**__**To the loving sprite,  
**__**A secure delight;  
**__**To the jealous, his own false terrors!**_

_**Ben Jonson**_

**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Nine – The Boy with the Bow beside You**

"Papa, do you believe in Angels?"

The man stopped and turned to his daughter.

"Of course, child. Why would you ask such a thing?"

"Well, when I was lying in the grass, I thought I saw a beautiful young man peering down at me from the sky. He looked like you, but younger."

"Oh, Christine! You silly goose! You must have fallen asleep and dreamed it. You have no need of an angel, I am with you."

She smiled brightly.

"I know, Papa, but it seemed so real."

The pair continued walking to the village, hand in hand and was soon lost in the early evening fog, which crept in from the sea.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The child skipped ahead of her father, dancing further and further from his side.

"Careful, Christine, do not wander! You may become lost in the fog."

The child spun to look back at her father and the impish smile froze on her mouth. Her eyes darted about and her lips fell into a pouting frown.

"Papa? Please, do not hide. I do not like this jest. Papa?"

She heard a faint call of her name, but she could not decide where to look. The fog deadened the sound, cloaking everything in strangeness.

"Christine?"

A young man's voice sounded near her ear causing her to trip and fall. She screamed as a swirl of black enveloped her and she lifted her hands to ward off an attack. Instead, she found herself gently righted.

"Are you all right, child? I did not mean to startle you. I am sorry."

The beautiful, yet familiar voice came from the center of the blackness.

"Who are you?" The frightened girl whimpered.

"That is of no importance." He paused and Christine felt eyes examining her. "What happened to your chin?"

The sudden question surprised the child and she answered without thinking.

"I tripped on a cobble and it opened up an old scar. The doctor had to sew it, but it is almost all the way better. I got six stitches and I did not cry. The doctor said that I am very brave."

A soft chuckle filled the air.

"You are indeed very brave, ma petite. This is the second time we have met and this is the second time you have hurt your chin. Perhaps, you need to take care when you are in the village of Perros-Guirec as it seems to have a dislike of your pretty little chin."

There was a sudden intake of breath from the girl as her words tumbled from her mouth.

"Second time? Are you the one? Are you the boy that helped me when I was little?"

Another chuckle.

"When you were little?" A pause. "Well, I suppose."

Her curiosity caused her normally impatient nature to overtake her self-control as she flung herself at the black shape. A sudden, hard whoosh of air left the form and it fell, coughing to the ground with the child landing on top.

"What on earth?"

The child giggled merrily and hugged the shape that soon proved to be that of a young man. The man struggled to sit up as the girl happily clung to him while she made herself comfortable on his lap. She snuggled closer and wrapped her little arms around him hugging him tightly.

"I never got to tell you, thank you. So … thank you!" She continued to giggle while holding him tightly. The young man, slightly unnerved by the unrestrained display of affection, gently attempted to extricate his body from the tight embrace.

"Uh, child? Please! I can barely draw a breath. Can you loosen your hold just a wee bit?" He laughed.

The girl's grip relaxed and she pulled back to look at her savior. Erik watched as her eyes traveled up his chest, along his neck to stop at his face. To the child's credit, she neither cried out nor removed her arms from around his waist, but Erik did notice that her eyes became wide with surprise. He sighed inwardly.

"_Once again my face comes between me and a friend. And I so hoped she would be different …."_

His silent musing interrupted by her voice.

"But, you are just a boy! I thought an angel saved me, but you are not an angel."

Erik watched her eyes grow serious. He unconsciously held his breath, awaiting her verdict.

Her smile returned to grace her face with its brilliance and she nodded to herself.

"I am pleased that you are not an angel. I do not think God would allow me to be friends with an angel and I definitely think we should be friends."

She leaned back and held out a small hand to Erik.

"Bonsoir, monsieur! Ma nom est Christine Daae. Quel est votre nom?"**¹**

Erik felt an amused smirk form across his lips as a thrill of happiness washed through his soul. Clearing his throat, he took her hand in his, placed a small kiss on the back of her hand and replied.

"Bonsoir, mademoiselle! Mon nom est Erik Destler. Je suis heureux de faire votre connaissance."**²**

The child blushed prettily and then cocked her head.

"Oh, listen! I do believe I hear my Papa calling me! You have saved me once again, Erik! Can you help me find my Papa, please?"

The young man nodded his head once.

"It would be my pleasure to assist you, ma petite, but I need you to remove yourself from my lap."

Her laughter rang out and she scrambled to her feet. Erik rose from the ground and dusted off his clothes. He threw his head back and listened.

"Here, take my hand Mademoiselle Christine. It would not do for your rescuer to lose you as well."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Papa! I was so worried about you. This weather is not good for your cough. We must get you inside now."

The small girl tugged on the older man's hand, while not releasing her hold on the younger man. She seemed to have regained her bearing and pulled them in the direction of the Daae house.

"I need to introduce you to the most amazing person, Papa. This is Erik Destler. I was lost in the fog, calling for you. He found me and we talked for a bit until we heard you calling for me. Then he helped me find you. This is the amazing part, Erik is the same boy that helped me when I fell down and cut my chin the first time."

The older man turned and smiled.

"Well, it seems that I owe you for saving my daughter twice. Christine? Child, you need not to make a habit of this. I am quite certain Monsieur Destler has other things to do than to save you. Ah, here we are. Please, Monsieur, come in and let us properly thank you by having you join us for supper and some music."

Erik arched his eyebrow inquiringly.

"Music?"

"Of course, Monsieur. I am a humble violinist and my daughter accompanies me with her voice. Are you a fancier of music?"

"Please, call me Erik. Well, I recently decided to train as an architect, but it was a difficult decision as I had been accepted at both the Paris Conservatoire and Politecnico di Milano."

"Oh? So, do you play an instrument?"

"Oui. I play the piano and the violin. Although, I can play most any instrument it seems. However, those are the two I prefer."

"Marvelous, Erik! And, please call me Gustave. Perhaps, you can play for us while I make supper. Christine, please wash your hands and then set the table."

"Yes, Papa."

The girl disappeared down the hall while Erik looked about the small living room. He nodded to the girl when she returned as she began to whirl happily about as she danced from the sideboard where the dishes were stored to the table. She hummed an aria as she set the table that Erik recognized, but was surprised to hear that such a young child knew it. He lifted his eyebrow to the older man.

"Verdi's Rigoletto? Is that Gilda's Aria No. 6?"

The older man smiled broadly.

"Good ear, Erik! Yes, you may not believe this, but Christine's voice can carry mature roles. Do you know how to play that aria?"

Erik nodded and Gustave stuck his head through the door from the kitchen. He gestured with his chin.

"My violin case is over there in the corner. Christine? Can you show him? Child, when you are finished, Monsieur Erik shall play Aria No. 6 and you shall sing it with him. Non?"

The girl smiled gaily.

"Of course, Papa. I shall sing for the boy with the bow in his hand."

Her laughter floated throughout the house and warmed the hearts of all those that heard it.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"She is asleep at last, Monsieur. Now, it is time for you and me to speak plainly. It is time for you to remember the truth, Erik. It is time for you to remember that you never met Christine in the fog of Perros-Guirec. It is time to remember."

The man strode across the room and placed his hand on Erik's arm as he sat in the armchair by the fireplace. A brief flash of light suffused the two men and then the young man changed. His body aged 13 years in a matter of moments and the older man grew younger. Erik briefly stared at the hand on his arm and then closed his eyes. The younger man spoke.

"Erik? Do you know why you are here?"

"No, but I remember that Christine is my wife and that she is ill. How is it that we are here? Actually, where is here?"

The Angel of Music removed his hand from Erik's arm and sat on the small settee. He waved his hand about the room.

"This is the house where Christine and I lived during the last year of my life. It is the last place that my daughter felt safe and loved, but it is also the first place she met Lilith. While I do appreciate Antoinette's offer of assistance, she is not the one that needs to save Christine. Having Christine remember the acts of the Opera Ghost will not help her. She first needs to remember Lilith. Once she remembers Lilith that will unlock the closed parts of her memory."

"Well, how do we help her remember Lilith?" Erik interrupted.

The Angel frowned and turned away.

"Come, now. What must we do to help Christine? You must tell me."

He watched as the Angel of Music aged and became a man once more. Erik felt his body change and he realized he was once again 17 years old.

"In order for Christine to remember, I must die again."

**

* * *

¹ Translation: **"Good evening, sir! My name is Christine Daae. What is your name?" 

**² Translation:** "Good evening, miss! My name is Erik Destler. I am happy to make your acquaintance."

* * *

**Author's Note: Hope everyone is having a wonderful summer vacation! Please take the time to feed the kitty – read and review!**

**Fondest wishes,  
--ny**

* * *


	40. To Hear Heaven's Voice

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**of comfort**_

_**amid dreams of green and gold  
and spilling flowers on the breeze  
i float along and wait  
to hear heaven's voice  
touch me with your song**_

_**Nyasia A. Maire – 2007**_

**

* * *

Chapter Forty – To Hear Heaven's Voice**

"Well, how do we help her remember Lilith?" Erik interrupted.

The Angel frowned and turned away.

"Come, now. What must we do to help Christine? You must tell me."

He watched as the Angel of Music aged and became a man once more. Erik felt his body change and he realized he was once again 17 years old.

"In order for Christine to remember, I must die again."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"What do you mean? They are most definitely _**not**_ fine! Look at them! And you, Madame, what have you been doing since that unearthly light shone about the Mistress? You have been conversing with the ceiling. If we were back in my beloved England, I would suggest a tour of Bedlam for the lot of you!"

A sharp intake of breath hissed through the room and an icy silence lingered briefly, before even colder words sounded.

"Elaine Mallery! Speak not of that which you do not understand."

Another silence.

"Things happen here which defy all reason. I cannot explain to you about things that I do not fully understand. Please trust me when I say that if I believed either Christine or Erik were in danger, I would be the first to send for a physician. We do not require a man of medicine here, but a man of God. Please watch over them. I shall not be gone long."

"Wait! Are you leaving right now? Where are you going? Why?"

"I do not have the luxury of time for I do not know when Erik and Christine will awake. Suffice it to say, I go to fetch a priest. Adieu."

Antoinette swept past the dumbfounded woman. The quiet tapping of her cane on the hardwood floor receded down the hall and faded into silence. Elaine stared at the open bedroom door, her eyes glazed in shock. After a moment, she shook her head and gently closed the door. Turning, she walked to the side of her employer's bed and looked down upon the seemingly sleeping couple. If not for the events of earlier that night, Elaine would feel embarrassed by her presence in the master's bedroom and even more so looking at the two lying together, holding each other tightly.

"Oh, Erik! What on earth is happening? I thought you marrying Christine the best thing that could ever happen to you, but it seems I was wrong. Am I making another mistake by waiting? Should I trust this woman, Antoinette? What is the right thing for me to do?"

She shook her head sadly and pulled a chair close to the side of the bed. She anxiously sat to wait for whatever the future had in store for the man she loved as a son and the woman he so obviously adored. She bit her lower lip and silently began to pray.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The young man's face registered shock and then quickly became highly agitated.

"Monsieur Daae … oh, pardon moi … I mean, Gustave … please, I do not understand …."

The older man stood and walked to the young man. He laid a comforting hand upon Erik's shoulder.

"Relax, Erik. Take a deep breath. I need you to be calm. As long as you allow yourself to be upset, your memory will not become clear. I need you to remember. Only then can you help Christine."

Erik raised his head and turned to look at Gustave.

"Christine is in trouble? She needs me? What must I do?"

"Oui, Erik. Now, close your eyes. Breathe. That is good. Breathe. Excellent. Breathe. Let your mind take you to the place you feel safest. Picture that place in your mind. Are you there?"

The young man gave a small nod of his head.

"Good. Breathe. Do not forget to breathe. You are there, in your secret place. You are safe. You are neither too hot nor too cold. You are comfortable. You are relaxed. Nothing can harm you. Empty your mind. Let this moment of peace fill your soul. Breathe in the calm around you and let it enter into your mind. Perfect."

The older man removed his hand from the young man's shoulder and gently laid his palm to Erik's forehead. He bent down and whispered into Erik's ear.

"Erik …. Christine. Remember, Christine."

Erik's body froze and his eyelids began to twitch. Images of Christine flooded his mind. A first glimpse of sparkling brown eyes glimpsed over Raoul's shoulder, a small booted foot clad in blue stepping down from a carriage, a pair of passion swollen lips rising up to meet his, the fingers of a dainty hand tenderly caressing the deformed side of his face, Christine clad all in white walking down the aisle of a church towards him and then her naked body lying beneath him as their bodies joined together into one. His eyes flew open.

"Oh! I remember! Mon Dieu! I remember! Oh, Christine …. My wife!"

The older man instantly hissed. His head swung in the direction of his daughter's bedroom and then returned to whisper furiously at Erik.

"Silence! Do you wish to ruin this chance to help her? If she remembers anything of her adult life, we will lose this one opportunity to make things right. Lilith may no longer be able to take her body, but she can still steal her soul. We must not allow that to happen."

"So, what do we do now?" Erik spoke quietly.

"We let life take its course. We allow the days to pass. You and Christine shall become friends, of that I am certain. Heaven has bound your souls as one, so the two of you can do naught else. My illness shall progress and I will die, but you will be here to comfort her and protect her when Lilith tries to make her bargain with Christine. You will not allow the devil's deal to be struck a second time."

"What if I fail and the deal is made?"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Oh! Please hurry, will you?"

Antoinette muttered under her breath barely able to hold the curse from escaping her lips.

"_Wonderful! I shall most certainly go to hell if I begin swearing in the house of God … and, at a priest, no less! I am a fine example for my girls! No wonder fate finds them both placed in such uncertainty. If I had only been stronger. More dedicated to my girls, instead of the ballet, we might not be at this place tonight. Damn it! Fine! Stop right now, Antoinette! Get hold of yourself! Berating yourself will not be of any help to Christine and Erik. Concentrate on the matter at hand. Fetch this man and have him waiting for when Gustave needs him."_

An elderly man's voice interrupted Antoinette's silent tirade.

"Madame, I do not understand. What exactly is the emergency for which you need me? Is someone ill?"

Making a silent plea for God to forgive her lie, Antoinette spoke urgently.

"Oui, Père. I fear it is most serious. Erik bade me make haste and bring you to his home at once."

The man crossed himself and tugged on his cassock to straighten it. He quickly chose a black stole and placed it around his neck, allowing the ends to hang loosely down to his knees. Lastly, he placed a black manto around his shoulders and tied it at his throat.

"Please, Madame. I need to know. Is someone in need of the rite of extreme unction? I must bring certain things with me if this is the case. The canon requires it."

"Oui, Père. Gather what you require to aide a soul in peril, but whatever you do, please, make haste! Time is short!"

The man nodded, opened a cabinet and grabbed a small, black leather bag. He sighed, kissed his fingertips and pressed them to the small crucifix hanging on the wall next to the door.

"Well, I am ready. Let us go, Madame."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"What if I fail, Gustave?" Erik repeated, more insistent this time.

Gustave coughed for a moment and then stood wheezing with his hands on his hips as he caught his breath.

"Do not fail, Erik. Christine's soul is still at risk. My daughter's soul is the prize! I know you love her, Erik. If we fail, you shall lose your wife. Oh, she will live, but her spirit shall die. She will be Christine no longer, but Lilith's plaything. And, that is a thought too horrible for me to consider. No, Christine must not choose Lilith again. We simply cannot allow any other outcome."

The man smiled grimly at Erik.

The young man returned his determine look and nodded. A sudden look of confusion crossed his features.

"What is it, Erik?"

A bemused smile formed on Erik's lips.

"But, I am still but a boy. Where shall I live?"

The man sighed and shook his head with a small grin.

"Well, boy, I guess you shall just have to make do and live with Christine and me."

A shocked look crossed the young man's face.

"That would not be proper! Would people not gossip? I could never do anything to jeopardize Christine's reputation."

"Erik, she is but eight years of age! I hardly think that anyone would give you living as a boarder with a man and his daughter a second thought. Besides, I trust you Erik."

Erik frowned.

"But …."

The older man shook his head.

"Erik, please understand. These bodies are just a facade. We are not back in time. We are revisiting the events of all those years ago, not reliving them. This is not a second chance. Nothing we do here will change the past. Our sole purpose here is to help Christine remember what happened from the moment she found my body to the moment Antoinette arrived here. She must remember her arrangement with Lilith, but we must prevent her from agreeing to it a second time. That is the other reason you are necessary. Lilith cannot hope to compete with the love you two have for each other."

A light of understanding began to dawn in the younger man's eyes and he nodded slowly.

"Very well, Gustave. I believe I understand."

He paused and paled slightly as a thought crossed his mind.

"What is it, boy?"

Erik turned away from the man. He swallowed and stared at his feet.

"Uh, well … that is … how … what happens now?" He finished weakly.

"Oh!"

The man's eyes lit up with his understanding of the young man's silent question. He walked to Erik's side and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I have about four months before I die and that should be just about enough time …."

The man's voice trailed off and Erik turned to look at him curiously.

"Time enough for what?"

A genuine smile caressed Gustave's careworn features as he met Erik's eyes.

"Why, time enough to teach the two of you to sing properly, of course!"

**

* * *

Author's Note****: Hope you like it! I hate to be needy, but, damn it! I guess I am! As always, please read and review! --ny

* * *

**


	41. O Gather Me the Rose

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**O Gather Me the Rose**_

_**O gather me the rose, the rose,  
While yet in flower we find it,  
For summer smiles, but summer goes,  
And winter waits behind it.**_

_**For with the dream foregone, foregone,  
The deed forborne forever,  
The worm Regret will canker on,  
And time will turn him never.**_

_**So were it well to love, my love,  
And cheat of any laughter  
The fate beneath us, and above,  
The dark before and after.**_

_**The myrtle and the rose, the rose,  
The sunshine and the swallow,  
The dream that comes, the wish that goes  
The memories that follow!**_

_**William Ernest Henley**_

**

* * *

****Chapter Forty-One – O Gather Me the Rose**

The man's eyes lit up with his understanding of the young man's silent question. He walked to Erik's side and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I have about four months before I die and that should be just about enough time …."

The man's voice trailed off and Erik turned to look at him curiously.

"Time enough for what?"

A genuine smile caressed Gustave's careworn features as he met Erik's eyes.

"Why, time enough to teach the two of you to sing properly, of course!"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Weak sunlight streamed through her open curtains, causing the small lump in the bed to groan and awaken as the light burned into her closed eyes. She rolled over in an attempt to avoid the inevitable, but a sudden thought brought her mind to full consciousness.

"_Erik!"_

Smiling brightly, she leapt from her bed and without a thought, ran from her room. Frowning as she entered the small sitting room, she turned her head to inspect the kitchen, but a soft sound halted her mid-turn. She returned her eyes to scrutinize the sitting room. Her smile spread across her features once again as she located the cause of the sound. Impishly, she tiptoed to the settee and reached out her finger to poke at the source of the quiet snoring.

"_**Boo!"**_

She let out a shriek and jumped nearly a foot off the floor before landing on the blanket covered young man. Her little fists pounded on his chest as she giggled madly.

"Oh, Erik! So, you think that you can scare me just like that and get away with it? Oh, no! I am not that easy to frighten and now, you shall now feel the torture of my tiny, tickling fingers! There is no escape!"

The two on the settee dissolved into a tangle of flailing arms and flying hands. Rich tenor guffaws rang throughout the room interwoven with the bell-like tones of a young soprano's giggles. The man watched in awe at the two wrestling on the settee.

"_Even in play their love outshines everything around them. Not even Christine's mother and I found such a love as this with one another. They are a match made in heaven and I feel more at ease seeing this. Lilith does not have the slightest hope of luring Christine into her web. Not this time, not with Erik here. The only truly difficult undertaking for me is dying. How am I to take leave of my daughter's embrace again? This time I do not even have the thought of rejoining her mother to comfort me. After this, I am to spend eternity as an angel. Ah!"_

The man sighed quietly.

"_Well, if it means that my child's soul shall be safe from damnation, then this sentence of exile from humanity is well worth it. For, what parent would not gladly forfeit their soul to save their child? To see her smile is reward enough."_

He straightened and placed his arms across his chest then cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, children. There was someone else in the house trying to get some sleep."

The pair was so engrossed in tickling each other that they did not hear the man's dry comment, so he tried again.

"Bonjour! Could the two of you possibly be any louder?"

As fate would have it, he yelled his question just as the two paused to inhale, which caused the house to become momentarily silent. His thunderous words stunned the two on the settee and they sat up gasping with surprise.

"Papa?"

"Monsieur?"

The startled pair spoke at the same time, causing their laughter and tickling to begin all over again. The man rolled his eyes and shook his head. He moved into the kitchen to begin making breakfast.

"Christine, chores! Come now! We have a busy day ahead of us. We need to air out the spare room for Erik and make up a bed for him. Hurry now! No dawdling, ma petite ange! If you and Erik can ready the room before dinner, perhaps we can have a music lesson before supper."

From the kitchen, Gustave saw a small, curly brown head pop up and peek over the back of the settee.

"Music?" The voice squeaked.

"Music …." The older man repeated.

"Music?" A young man's voice inquired.

"Oh, yes! Music!" The girl sighed happily. "Come on, Erik! Trust me. You want music!"

She leapt from the settee and hurried to begin her chores, the first one being setting the table for breakfast. The boy followed uncertainly, pausing in the kitchen's doorway.

"Bonjour, Gustave."

Erik bobbed his head.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

The man chuckled and pointed to the small stove.

"We always need wood. Can you fetch me some from outside?"

"Of course."

The man smiled as he grabbed a bowl from a shelf and proceeded to crack a few eggs into it.

"_This is working out better than I ever hoped or imagined it would."_

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Look! Look what I found! Is it not beautiful?"

The small hand waved excitedly in the cool autumn air.

"Be careful! That rock is very slippery. There is moss all over it. What are you trying to do? Break your leg? Your father will have my neck if you hurt yourself. Come on, Christine. Get down from there."

He shook his head as he watched her pretty lips form a dramatic pout.

"It will not work with me, you know that. Come on! Get down from there and come show me what you found. I am exhausted chasing after you. I am sitting down here and I am not moving for at least a half an hour. You have to come here if you want me to see whatever you have found."

"Aw … you are no fun sometimes, Erik. This is great! Look at all these little crabs! There shells are so beautiful. I want to collect enough of them to make a necklace. What do you think?"

The young man suppressed a smile and replied with mock weariness.

"Christine Daae! Do you really plan on evicting crabs from their homes just so you can make yourself a necklace? I think that is rather cruel …. On second thought, we do not need to remove them from their shells to make a pair of earrings for you; we can simply allow them to pinch onto your earlobes."

Feeling rather amused with the imagined sight of the crabs as earrings, Erik chuckled softly. He closed his eyes and stretched, only to have his eyes snap open at the sound of a large splash.

"Oh no! Christine!"

The girl's brown head had disappeared and Erik leapt to his feet. He ran toward the tide pool where he had last seen Christine. He can hear nothing, but the sound of the waves rhythmically crashing against the rocky shoreline. His feet carefully climb and he leaned to steady himself with his hands as he climbed the precipice. He swallowed hard and blinked as he mentally prepared himself for whatever he may find in the tide pool. His head crested the rocks and he immediately scanned the area for the little body.

"_**Boo!"**_

She screeched and he started backwards. She then burst into an uncontrollable fit of sniggers.

"_**I got you!"**_

Her voice, triumphant. Suddenly, she shrieked and began to scramble out of the tide pool in a mad dash for the beach to escape from her would-be rescuer. The little feet and short legs were no match for the lanky young man who quickly overtook her and scooped up her wiggling and giggling form, carrying it to the sand. There, he dropped her and proceeded to thoroughly tickle her.

"I give up! I give up!"

She gasped in between her breathless cries of laughter, tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I surrender, Erik!"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Papa?"

"Oui, ma petite."

"I have decided something."

The man turned to look at the little girl sitting in the window of his bedroom.

"This sounds most serious. Too serious for such a silly, little girl."

"Papa! I am serious! I will not be eight years old forever you know!"

The man cleared his throat to hide the sudden lump of emotion that just formed there.

"No, ma ange. You will not be eight years old forever. Tell me, what have you decided?"

She hopped down from her perch and scrambled up to sit on the bed beside her father. He placed an arm around her shoulder and drew her warm little body close to his increasingly frail one. Gustave breathed in her scent. She smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg from her earlier lesson with Erik in the kitchen. He rested his chin on the top of her head and swallowed back the coughing fit, which attempted to overwhelm his body with its wracking waves of pain. He closed his eyes and after winning a temporary reprieve from his lung's urge, he cleared his throat and sighed. He repeated, this time more gently.

"Christine, ma chéri, what monumental decision have you reached?"

She snuggled closer and took his hands in hers, making a show of examining his fingers in order to avoid looking up into his eyes.

"I have decided that I am going to marry Erik when I am grown."

With those words, Gustave lost the battle and gave into the spasm of coughing.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Really, you two! I have been teaching you now for three months and you both still forget breath control? What am I to do with you?"

The thin, ghostly pale man spoke in his most stern voice. The girl and the young man sat in stunned silence before Christine hesitantly spoke.

"But, Papa …. I thought we sounded good …."

The frown, which creased his brow furrowed deeper.

"Christine …."

He growled her name in warning.

"But, Papa!"

"Hush, child! Let me finish!" He spoke quietly before chuckling as he continued. "Actually, you were perfect. Congratulations!"

Erik looked up from his hands and smiled sadly at the once strapping man. Christine's eyes shone with pleasure at her father's words, but also with unshed tears. She turned her head away and blotted her eyes with the back of her hand. Erik held the man's gaze and began to speak earnestly.

"Gustave, provisions are running low. May I have your permission to borrow your violin tomorrow so that Christine and I can earn some money to go shopping?"

The man nodded, and then pointed to an envelope sitting on his bedside table.

"Erik, please take that letter and post it. It is of the utmost importance. I am sending for a friend of mine. Her name is Antoinette Giry. She will be Christine's guardian after I am gone and my time grows close. Please make certain to send it to her right away."

"But, Papa … why can I not stay here with Erik? He can look after me just as he is now. And, then when you are better, I will still be here and you will not have to travel all the way to Paris to bring me back to you."

Erik stooped and picked up the envelope from the table.

"I think it might be best if I retired for the evening. Bonne nuit."

With a small nod of his head, he left the man and girl to their long avoided conversation.

**********

* * *

Author's Note: A nice, peaceful chapter … the prelude of calm before the proverbial storm. Next up … Lilith! Egad!**

**As always, please feed the kitty ... read and review!**

**--ny

* * *

**


	42. The Sorrows of Her Changing Face

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**When You Are Old**_

_**When you are old and grey and full of sleep,  
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,  
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look  
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; **_

_**How many loved your moments of glad grace,  
And loved your beauty with love false or true,  
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,  
And loved the sorrows of your changing face; **_

_**And bending down beside the glowing bars,  
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled  
And paced upon the mountains overhead  
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.**_

_**William Butler Yeats**_

**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Two – The Sorrows of Her Changing Face**

Erik stooped and picked up the envelope from the table.

"I think it might be best if I retired for the evening. Good night."

With a small nod of his head, he left the man and girl to their long avoided conversation.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Later that night, Erik awoke to the soft sound of sobs. His eyes flashed open and he froze with fear that the older man's time had already come. The moment he dreaded was upon them, but he realized that the sound he heard was in his room. Confused, he rose up on one arm and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. There was a sharp intake of breath and then silence.

"Christine?"

The word hung in the wintry cold air of the room like an icicle from the eaves of a roof before the soft reply came.

"Yes, Erik. It is me."

A soft sniffle sounded.

"How long have you known?"

"_Of all the questions she could ask, why that one? If I answer this question with the wrong words, this could push her away from me. She might hate me. What should I say? Mon Dieu!"_

"Erik?"

He sighed and sat up in his bed. Running his hand through his sleep tousled hair; he closed his eyes and answered her.

"Your father told me the first night I stayed here. The night I slept on the settee. He wanted me to know that I could not stay with the two of you indefinitely as his health was failing."

The small shadow crept closer to Erik's bed.

"Did he tell you that you should not tell me?"

Erik's eyes flashed open.

"Of course not! Why would he do that?"

Erik felt his mattress press down as Christine clambered onto the bed.

"I dunno. Maybe the same reason that made him wait so long to tell me. He did not wish to upset me."

"Did it work?"

"Of course not. I am so upset with him, I feel like punching him right in his big, fat nose, except for the fact that he is so very sick … that is the only thing saving him right now. Why did he do this? I feel like he punched me in the stomach. It hurts so badly and I feel sick. He should have told me. I feel like I could have spent so much more of my time with him. I have lost so much time that I can never have back. I am so angry with him. He left me all alone and I wanted to die …."

"_Wait! She is talking about her father as if he has already died. What is happening? She sounds older, too!"_

"Erik?"

The voice had taken on the softness of childhood once more and Erik silently sighed in relief.

"Yes, Christine?"

"Can you sing to me? I do not think I can go back to sleep unless you do. Everything hurts too much."

"Of course, ma ange. What would you like me to sing?"

The small form scooted closer to him and snuggled against his chest.

"Please sing the first song you ever sang to me. Will you sing it for me, Erik?"

"I could never deny you anything, ma petite."

_**"Hush a bye  
Don't you cry  
Go to sleep my little baby  
When you wake  
You shall have  
All the pretty little ponies.**_

**_In your bed  
Momma said  
Baby's riding off to dreamland  
One by One  
They've begun  
Dance and prance for little baby._**

**_Black and bays  
Dapples and grays  
Running in the night  
When you wake  
You shall have  
All the pretty little ponies._**

**_Can you see the little ponies  
Dance before your eyes  
All the pretty little ponies  
Will be there when you arise_."_¹_**

About midway through the song, Erik felt the girl's body slacken against his and he realized she was asleep. He finished the song and then just sat there holding the child that he knew would grow to be his wife one day. His hands stroked and calmed her torrent of dark curls as his heart wept for the child in his arms. The morning promised to be gloomy and gray as Erik at last drifted into a fitful slumber.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The young man's eyes drifted open and he felt as if he were missing something. He sat up confused and then remembered that Christine had climbed into his bed the night before. He looked around his room, but she had gone. He listened carefully and thought he could hear her singing outside.

"_The silly thing! She does so love to go looking for crocus. Crocuses are the things she loves the most about winter. There is something about those delicate ivory and purple flowers that she just adores. I wonder …. I know what it is. It is the hope of spring."_

He smiled and stood up. Allowing his arms to rise above his head, he arched his back and stretched. It was a morning just like all the other mornings that he shared with Christine and Gustave, but something niggled away at the back of his mind. Something familiar and disturbing.

"_Crocus! Oh, no! Gustave! Please, not yet! Not today! Oh, let us have one more day!"_

Suddenly, Erik froze as the sound of Christine's voice rose from her father's bedroom. Her song, while beautiful, echoed cold, hollow and lifeless throughout the house. He wanted to run to her side, but the music held him firmly rooted to the spot.

"_No! I must go to her! Now is the moment she needs me. Am I to fail her? I think not. So, move, Destler! Move!"_

Without another thought, Erik raced from his bedroom, out the door, down the hall, through the open door of Gustave's bedroom and into the man's room. He halted at the foot of the bed, taking in the sight of Christine's small body lying snuggled against her father's unmoving chest. Erik bowed his head for the briefest of moments to say a small prayer before walking to the bedside and closing the man's staring, lifeless eyes. With that act accomplished, he placed his hand on the unmoving girl's shoulder and shook her slightly.

"Christine? Christine? We need to talk, ma ange. Please look at me, chéri."

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! I think not, Monsieur Destler. Do you seriously believe I will allow this child to escape me? Ha!"

Erik closed his eyes at the sound of the voice. He knew that voice and dreaded what his eyes would see, should he allow his head to turn.

"_How am I supposed to fight this … this … monster that masquerades with my beloved's face? How can I look upon this lie and not lose my way? Mother! Gustave! Please help me!"_

He gathered the limp body of the girl into his arms and turned to face Lilith.

"_Mon Dieu! Christine! No, it is not her. I am holding Christine in my arms. That thing is not my Christine. That is Lilith and she is using the form that she knows will hurt me the most. She is trying to weaken my resolve. I am alone and Christine needs me to be strong."_

Cradling Christine's face against his chest, he stroked the girl's hair and crooned to her.

"Ma chéri, it is alright. We knew this time would come. All people die, but do not fear, ma amour, you are not alone. I am here and I will never leave you. Be strong. Wake up, Christine. I can help you, but the choice is yours to make. Please, ma chéri, you need to awaken."

The small body stirred in his arms and Erik felt it change. The little girl grew before his astonished eyes into the form of the woman that was his wife and then he noticed that he was no longer the lanky boy, he was once again a man. Relief flooded his body and he allowed his hands to caress Christine's form, before he drew her into a tight embrace.

"Christine." He murmured. "Ma chéri, you must awaken."

A husky chuckle distracted Erik from Christine's unconscious form and he watched as the shape of a woman identical to the one he held in his arms walked to the bed.

"But, Erik … mon amour … she cannot awaken. You hold an empty shell. All depends upon you. I hold her soul here."

Lilith-Christine placed a hand over the upper part of her left breast.

"If you want her back, you must take her from me. And, foolish man, I do not believe that you know how."

Erik glanced down at the blank face of his beloved and then back up at the thing masquerading as Christine.

"_I may not know how, but I do know someone that does. The question is: how do I summon him here without losing my own soul?"_

Lilith-Christine sneered at what she mistook for uncertainty in the man before her. She paced back and forth at the foot of the bed.

"Why fight me, Erik? I can give you everything you could ever want … money, women, power … all you have to do is give Christine to me. Hell! You do not even need to give her up at all. Allow me to control her and I will happily let you take her body whenever you desire. What else could you want? Is that not everything you could ever want?"

She looked at him and Erik felt his skin crawl under her burning gaze. She smirked at him.

"Oh, mon amour, I could give you one other thing that I know your heart desires. I know you desire this even above that woman's soul. I could give you your face. Just think, Erik. The right side of your face just as handsome as the left. I would not need to give you women. Women would throw themselves at you. You could have your choice, perhaps a new one every day? Or, maybe you would like to take me? Merde! If your face were whole, I would not mind joining with you. Just think of what we could do Erik. You and me … side-by-side … your voice and my face … we would have the entire world worshipping at our feet!"

"_Oh! I think I know how …. Woman, thy name is vanity! Even a demoness is subject to vanity. Careful, Destler. Slow and steady … bring her into the trap. The words must come from her lips or he may not hear them. He needs to know what she plans to do or he will not involve himself in this matter. I must weave this tangled web, oh, so very carefully for it to succeed."_

"It sounds tempting, but how can I trust you? If I give you Christine, what is to stop you from killing me after you have what you want?"

She stopped her pacing and turned to him, her eyes narrowing. She tilted her head as she considered him for a moment. Erik silently thanked his mother for allowing him to shed his mask all those years ago. If he had worn a mask, he never would have learned how to hide his emotions. Living life without a mask had taught him to hide all of the hurt he felt at the careless remarks tossed his way day after day. Returning, Lilith-Christine's appraising glance, he arched his inquiring eyebrow at her.

"Well?" He reiterated. "You, after all is said and done, do not have the most savory of reputations."

She threw her head back and laughed.

"You do not know, nor will I make any concession other than this … you amuse me, Erik. Also, you are not afraid of me. I do not believe that I have ever known a mortal man that foolish or that brave. This intrigues me, so I will give you this. I shall heal your face and allow you use of this body whenever you desire. In return, you shall ally yourself with me and renounce the Angel of Music. That seems a fair trade to me … what answer do you give me?"

**_

* * *

_¹**Traditional – Written By: Unknown – Additional Lyrics By: Kenny Loggins and David Pack  
Source: "Return to Pooh Corner" by Kenny Loggins – Copyright © 1994 Gnossos Music**

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Author's Note****: Okay everyone, do your read and review thing! ☺ --ny

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**


	43. Lucifer’s Love

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**lucifer's love**_

_**awake and bring forth hell's choir  
lucifer's love burns with desire  
for lilith's lust unchained  
shall bring upon earth its bane **_

_**Nyasia A. Maire – 2007**_

**

* * *

****Chapter Forty-Three – Lucifer's Love**

She threw her head back and laughed.

"You do not know, nor will I make any concession other than this … you amuse me, Erik. Also, you are not afraid of me. I do not believe that I have ever known a mortal man that foolish or that brave. This intrigues me, so I will give you this. I shall heal your face and allow you use of this body whenever you desire. In return, you shall ally yourself with me and renounce the Angel of Music. That seems a fair trade to me … what answer do you give me?"

"Well, it seems to me that I cannot dare trust you either way. That no matter what I choose, I can do naught but lose."

The man hefted the unconscious body of his beloved into his arms and he walked to the room's armoire. He gazed into the mirror, which hung on the wall above it and appeared to study his face. The creature crept closer to the man, her hand hesitantly reaching to touch him. He drew away slightly and turned to look at her as she came into view in the mirror. Erik suppressed a gasp of horror as the mirror revealed the true face of Lilith and he quickly averted his eyes from the reflection to look upon the Lilith-Christine thing next to him. Using all of the control, he learned during the last four months, he steadied his voice and continued his conversation with the demoness.

"You seem to offer me your hand in partnership. Am I to act as your consort here on earth?"

Her smirk grew wider and she replied with a shrug of her shoulder.

"Hmmm … well, yes, why not? You are a most passionate lover as I have seen in your couplings with the woman you hold in your arms. I suppose I can find someone better than you are, but I know that I could do much worse. I can always teach you how to live up to your full potential. You could act as my Angel of Death. I think that might amuse me for a time. However, man, you must remember that I bore easily, so do not take my current favor as permanently granted. I am a demanding mistress."

"If I agree to your terms, which as of this moment, I have not, I shall most definitely keep everything you have said very much in the front of my mind. So, if I agree to give you Christine's body, will you be free to roam the earth? Will you be able to come and go wherever and whenever you please? Why is it that in Christine, you have found the one human that can set you free? Why Christine? Surely, there must be others? If I allow you to have her, you shall truly become earth's queen. All of the world shall be yours and everyone in it shall worship you or suffer whatever consequences you see fit."

Erik braced himself and looked back into the mirror to watch the hideous hag move closer to him. He thought that he saw the mirror begin to darken, to turn a smoky red at the edges. He hid the smirk, which threaten to spread across his lips.

"Lilith, is that what you intend? Do you intend to forever leave your cave and establish yourself here as queen of all mortals? I would think that your demonic consort would be most displeased over this turn of events."

"So many questions … you need not trouble your pretty little head over such weighty matters, Erik. Suffice it to say that once I inhabit Christine's corporeal form, Lucifer shall hold no power over me. Fool! He contents himself to rule only the ninth level of hell. I have always told him that the mortal realm holds the promise of so much more, but he refuses to listen. Well, soon there will be little he can do, but to sit on his throne and watch me rule the Earth!"

She chuckled softly.

"All men shall fall down and worship me. I shall control their lives as easily as a puppeteer controls his puppets. All mortals shall live to please me. It will be wonderful! A devilish dance of the damned!"

Erik felt stunned as Lilith-Christine actually giggled, which soon gave way to his disgust. She reached out her hand to Erik's face and he snapped away from her.

"Just think, Erik, as soon as you release your hold on that body, your face will be whole and handsome. We can rule together! Just think of the fun we shall have. All of those that wronged you in the past, we can incinerate them with a thought or, if it pleases you more, they shall become fly dung. Whatever you like … just give me the girl and I shall take form and substance here at last!"

Suddenly, Erik clutched Christine's limp form closer to his chest as sulphurous fumes assailed his nostrils and his mind felt as if bogged down in a mire of quicksand. He choked and frantically backed away from the heat he felt emanating from the room's mirror. He retreated to sit on Gustave's bed, next to the body of the man he had come to respect so very much and prayed that his inspiration did not damn him and Christine to the ninth level of hell.

"Oh, no!" Lilith whimpered. "What have you done, Erik?"

"Done?" He whispered. "I did nothing, Madame. I merely allowed your husband to take note of your intentions to leave him."

"You stupid man! He shall kill you and that woman you hold so dear and I shall simply go back to my cave and wait for another."

"_**SILENCE, LILITH!**_ I somehow think that you shall do no such thing. I have been much too lenient with you. Perhaps, it is time for you to leave your cave and rule at my side …."

"No, Lucifer! Please? I do not want …."

"Have a care, wife! Since when have I heeded what you want? Perhaps, now would be an opportune moment for you to beg that I do not assign you to a level of hell that does not hold any mirrors."

"There is no such level." She scoffed.

"With all of the sarcasm that I can muster, I say to you, _**wife**_ …_**pray**_ that I do not create one just for you."

"You would never do such a thing." She whined.

He chuckled. The horror of the sound caused Erik to bury his face in the pillows.

"Oh! Doubt it not, wife!"

"Husband, please!"

"_**SILENCE!**_ Now, come before I lose my good temper."

Erik peeked over the top of the pillow at the scene before him only to see the true form of Lilith turn and hiss at him. Her face seemed to bubble and churn as it transformed into the visage he had seen in the mirror.

"Mortal, you impudent swine! Think not that you have won. You could have ruled at the side of an immortal and instead, you choose that …."

"Lilith, enough! No more! I forbid you to speak! You have failed in your machinations … come!"

She nodded. Erik watched as the hag faded into shadows of the mirror and the burning presence went with her. He sat up, looked about the now empty bedchamber and sighed then promptly fainted as his fear finally overtook his mind. And, for a time, he knew no more.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Oh! Look! I do believe that they awaken. Thank God! I thought we were going to lose both of them. I have never been so glad to find myself proven wrong."

Christine groaned as the shapes behind the voices solidified and took recognizable shape before her sleep encrusted eyes.

"What on earth is going on here? Why is everyone in our bedroom? Why are you all staring? Where is Erik?"

She thrust herself upright and as a wave of dizziness swept over her, she fell back onto a firm shape next to her.

"_Erik! Mon Dieu!"_

"Is someone going to answer me?"

She felt the firm form of her husband move beneath her and her words caught in her throat as a wave of warmth spread throughout her body as she both heard and felt his voice caress her.

"Well, if you ever decide to climb off of me, perhaps I can answer all of your questions, ma chéri. Now, if you would …."

Her body thrilled as the rich vibrations of his tenor voice ran along the length of her body, adding confusion to her already addled mind.

"If I would what?" She stammered.

He chuckled.

"If you would be so kind as to sit up, you make it very difficult for me to draw breath."

His voice began in a normal, casual tone before lowering for her ears only.

"Besides, you make it hard for me to maintain my body in a decorous manner. We, after all, have an audience, ma chéri."

She gasped and felt her face go scarlet.

"Madame? Elaine? Père? Would you please excuse us for a few moments? I would like to speak with my husband … privately. Thank you."

Madame turned and with a wave of her arms, ushered the group out of the master suite.

"Erik?"

"Yes, ma chéri?"

"What on earth just happened? Why were all of those people in our bedroom? Please! Tell me that I have been ill with a fever and not that the dream I just had was real. It could not be real, could it? Was it?"

Erik's smile slid from his face and he looked at her with all of the compassion in his soul.

"I would give anything to tell you it was but a dream, but I think you know better than that, Christine. And, it is necessary that you remember it all. Do you? Do you remember everything now?"

She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip for a moment before replying.

"Well, if remembering everything means do I remember Lilith and my life as the Opera Ghost, then, yes, I do. Yet, I wish I could remain oblivious to that life. I know I cannot, no, must not, but I wish it none the less for now I must confess all."

"Well, confession is good for the soul, ma amour."

She smiled bitterly.

"That is what they say, but they never had to admit to all that I allowed to happen in my name."

She closed her eyes to fight off the tears that threatened to fall.

"I only hope that you can still find it in your heart to love me when you know all, Erik. But, I am afraid."

The man gathered the trembling woman into his strong arms and gently kissed her lips.

"Christine, I just looked upon the true face of Lilith and lived to tell the tale after hearing the voice of Lucifer. And, I did it all for you. Do you truly believe I would desert you now?"

He smiled lovingly at her.

"Now, ma chéri, tell me all. I promise I will love you no less."

She sighed deeply.

"Very well, Erik. I believe that you know how all of this began, so where exactly should I begin?"

"At the beginning, of course. Tell me everything, Christine and then I shall fetch the priest and we can bury the Opera Ghost for once and for all time."

She nodded.

"I think I shall never be so happy as to know that specter is no more and I can truly live my life. Erik, you set me free! You saved me! I love you, ma amour. I love you."

"I love you, too, Christine. And, I always will."

**

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Author's Note****: The kitty is restless! Give it a scratch behind the ears, a bit of catnip and a nice, juicy review! Thanks! --ny

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**


	44. The Moment Consummate and Ripe

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**A Dream**_

_**I dreamed that I was dead and crossed the heavens, –  
Heavens after heavens with burning feet and swift, –  
And cried, "O God, where art Thou?" I left one  
on earth, whose burden I would pray Thee lift."**_

_**I was so dead I wondered at no thing, –  
Not even that the angels slowly turned  
Their faces, speechless, as I hurried by  
(Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned.)**_

_**Nor, at the first, that I could not find God,  
Because the heavens stretched endlessly like space.  
At last, a terror seized my very soul;  
I seemed alone in all the crowded place.**_

_**Then, sudden, one compassionate cried out,  
Though like the rest his face from me he turned,  
As I were one no angel might regard  
(Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned.)**_

_**"No more in heaven than earth will he find God  
Who does not know his loving mercy swift,  
But waits the moment consummate and ripe,  
Each burden, from each human soul to lift."**_

_**Though I was dead, I died again for shame.  
Lonely, to flee from heaven again I turned;  
The ranks of angels looked away from me  
(Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned.)**_

_**Helen Hunt Jackson**_

**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Four – The Moment Consummate and Ripe**

She sighed deeply.

"Very well, Erik. I believe that you know how all of this began, so where exactly should I begin?"

"At the beginning, of course. Tell me everything, Christine and then I shall fetch the priest and we can bury the Opera Ghost for once and for all time."

She nodded.

"I think I shall never be so happy as to know that specter is no more and I can truly live my life. Erik, you set me free! You saved me! I love you, ma amour. I love you."

"I love you, too, Christine. And, I always will."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The young woman sighed and delayed her confession by fussing with her nightgown. She fingered the lace border for a moment, lost in thought.

"It is so strange. I feel as if I just woke up from a dream with a whole new life. I never realized how much of my life I lived in limbo. If it were not for the fact that I remember the feel of Lilith's control over me, I would indeed believe I have been insane ever since Papa died."

She looked up suddenly.

"You never truly met my Papa, did you? I am still a little bit confused."

He smiled gently and removed her hand from its fidgeting of the lace.

"No. I never met your Papa while he lived. Well, I never received a formal introduction to him. I saw him for just the briefest of moments that one time when I brought you to him after you hurt your chin. However, I do not believe that he paid me much attention. He was quite concerned, and rightly so, with your injury. Head wounds bleed profusely and once he ascertained that I bore no responsibility for the gash on your chin, he promptly forgot all about me and tended to you."

"So, was it real the memories I have of you living with Papa and me during the last months before he passed? No. Those memories are not real. They cannot be true. I wish that they were. The memories I have of finding Papa all by myself, those memories are true. And, that was when Lilith first spoke to me. She stroked my hair and sang to me. She told me that she would protect me, keep me safe. She promised that no one would ever be able to hurt me again. She kept that promise, Erik. The only thing that she neglected to tell me was that in order that no one hurt me again, no one would ever love me again. That was the trade. I could not allow anyone to become close to me. I remember when Madame would try to hold me and comfort me, but I would not allow it. I would allow Lilith to step into me and take over. She told me that she needed to do things to make certain that people would not be able to hurt me. At first, she spoke to me, but all too soon, she simply took over and I no longer remembered when she was in control. Part of me knew that I did not remember things like other people. That sometimes I would be lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and then, in the blink of an eye, I would be shoveling manure. The more I sensed my difference, the more I isolated myself. The more anger I kept inside me, the less other people tried to befriend me. I spent my days running errands or performing menial tasks and then I hid myself away in the chapel or the library. I lived my life in books and Lilith waited. She knew that a child's body would do her no good. She wanted a woman's body, so she waited. She began to exercise more control over my body and I missed even more time as soon as I began my monthlies. The other girls in the ballet corps and chorus, they sensed that something was wrong with me. They would giggle and tease me unmercifully, which only served to arouse my anger. My anger always awoke Lilith and allowed her to take control of me. She began playing her pranks soon thereafter. I told you of the notes, those I did, but I now remember other things I did. Mean spiteful things. Well, my body did them, but Lilith controlled me. I may not have performed the acts, but I allowed Lilith to use me, so in the end, I am responsible for the terrible things she did. Mon Dieu, graciez-moi! I hurt people! I killed someone, Erik! I hated the prima donna. Her name was Carlotta. She was vain and cruel, but she did not deserve to die! During a performance of Romeo and Juliet, I switched the prop dagger with a real one. In the scene where Juliet kills herself, Carlotta used the real dagger. She plunged that dagger into her heart and died there on the stage. She died because of me. How can you love me? I am a vandal, a thief, a murderess! I am all of the things of which Lilith accused me. I am guilty."

She turned her head away and hid her face in her hands as she began to sob.

"I do not deserve your love. I do not know how you can stand to look at me."

She mumbled into hands that clutched into fists against her cheeks.

"I am evil …."

The man swiftly interrupted her torrent of guilt.

"No! You are not evil, Christine. You were an innocent child. Lilith warped and twisted you into believing things that were not true. She used you and lied to you. Christine, do you know why Lilith needed you? Do you?"

She raised her tear-streaked face and looked into his eyes. Erik saw the desperate hope burning in them.

"No. I do not. Why did she need me, Erik? Why?" She whispered.

The man gently wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs as he cupped her cheeks in his hands. He drew her up and stared into her eyes.

"Lilith could only possess the body of a pure soul. You, ma chéri, were that pure soul. She could not cross over into this world if she took the body of someone evil. She needed the purity of your soul, so ma amour this is the proof. This is how I know you are not evil."

He looked deep into her eyes, so she would see and hear the truth of his words.

"Christine, you are not evil. Evil was done through you, but you are not evil."

She closed her eyes and fell against his chest, her slender body wracked by heart-wrenching sobs.

"Oh, Erik! I love you! You are so good to me. I can hardly believe that I tried to push you away because of Lilith. Do you remember the dream I had? You must remember. I told you of it earlier tonight. It was tonight, was it not? It was tonight when I told you that we visited the Angel of Music. It was tonight when I told you that you were the guilty one. It was tonight when I told you Lilith's lie that you committed all of the seven deadly sins."

He nodded slowly and smiled sadly.

"That was Lilith's greatest lie. Our love threatened her hold on me, so she sent that dream to me. I can remember her doing it now. I remember the glee she felt when you walked out of our bedroom. She wanted me to think you were evil, so I would reject you. She thought that if I accused you of something that dreadful, it would drive you away from me because you knew it was not true. She thought it would hurt you that I would think you capable of such things and make you hate me, but thankfully, it did not. Lilith did not understand how strong your love for me is. I am sorry for hurting you, Erik. Can you forgive me for not being stronger? Can you … do you still love me?"

He shook his head and her eyes closed as her face crumpled into despair.

"Christine." He spoke very quietly. "Christine."

She opened her eyes, which were shining bright with unshed tears.

"I shook my head, not because I do not love you. I shook my head because you are a silly woman for even holding the thought in your head that I could stop loving you. I told you I will always love you and I meant it. I still mean it. I will always mean it. I could no sooner stop loving you than your father could or Madame or Meg or, even Raoul. Let me be plain. Christine, I love you!"

"Oh, Erik!"

The young woman threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly against her. Erik placed his arms around her waist and slowly rocked her until she calmed.

"Ma chéri?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you wish to speak with Père Anton? Madame brought him here. I believe that she feared you would require an exorcism or, perhaps, she knew you would need a confessor. I do not know exactly what she thought or why she thought it, but if you wish, he is here now."

She nodded against his chest.

"Oui. I would like to speak with him. I need to make my confession and ask for forgiveness. I would like to do that now before I see anyone else."

Her voice sounded muffled, but strong and full of resolve. It reassured the man that she was strong enough to embark on this undertaking.

He nodded.

"Very well, I shall fetch him and leave the two of you, so you may make your peace with God."

She sniffled slightly and drew back.

"Thank you, Erik. I love you, mon amour."

He smiled and sighed with relief and happiness.

"I love you too, Christine. I love you too."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Is she really all right, Erik?"

The man smiled and nodded, the strain of the night's events still evident in his face, but the relief also shone plainly in his eyes.

"Yes, Madame. Christine is fine. She needs to speak with Père Anton and make her confession. She told me everything. I am fairly certain that you are aware of most of the things the Opera Ghost did, but I need you to know that while Christine was the Opera Ghost, she was not herself. A demoness named Lilith possessed her and took control of her body. Lilith caused Christine to switch the daggers during Romeo and Juliet. Christine was not aware that she did it until tonight. She remembers everything now. There are no more gaps in her memory."

The older woman's normally stiff and proud shoulders sagged in relief.

"Dieu merci! All these years I knew something was wrong with Christine, but I was afraid. I was afraid of her fits of temper. I was afraid that she was insane, but most of all, I was afraid that she would purposefully and with her own hands, take a life. I shudder to think of what might have been if you had not come into her life, Erik. Merci!"

He shook his head and a small smirk formed on his lips.

"You have nothing for which you need thank me, Madame. I went to the opera house that night because Raoul pestered me into going. Christine's angel met her for the first time that night. Coincidence? No. Everything that has happened proves that there are no coincidences and that God does have a plan. Sometimes it takes time for us mortals to see it, but it is there. Oui, Madame, Dieu merci, indeed."

**

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Author's Note****: Surprise! Two chapters in two days! Okay, Mominator? Does the kitty deserve a review treat now? ☺ I hope so … so, here goes …. Please read and review! --ny

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**


	45. What I have Gained

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**Loss and Gain**_

_**When I compare  
What I have lost with what I have gained,  
What I have missed with what attained,  
Little room do I find for pride.**_

_**I am aware  
How many days have been idly spent;  
How like an arrow the good intent  
Has fallen short or been turned aside.**_

_**But who shall dare  
To measure loss and gain in this wise?  
Defeat may be victory in disguise;  
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.**_

_**Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**_

**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five – What I have Gained**

He shook his head and a small smirk formed on his lips.

"You have nothing for which you need thank me, Madame. I went to the opera house that night because Raoul pestered me into going. Christine's angel met her for the first time that night. Coincidence? No. Everything that has happened proves that there are no coincidences and that God does have a plan. Sometimes it takes time for us mortals to see it, but it is there. Oui, Madame, Dieu merci, indeed."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The front door closed with a soft click and Erik turned to walk across the marble foyer of his home. He paused for a moment to turn down the gas lamp near the foot of the grand staircase. The room showed just the palest hint of the dawn soon to come. He closed his eyes, leaned his head back and rolled his head from one shoulder to the other and back again. He straightened, rolled his shoulders and sighed.

"_Well, that was one hell of a night. I think that was just about enough upset to last one lifetime. However, one good thing came of this night and I would suffer it all again. It was wonderful being able to meet and get to know Gustave. He really was a very special man. It is no wonder that Lilith wanted Christine. Having such a father made an extraordinarily special daughter. And, now that woman is my wife. Mon Dieu! I am truly thankful for everything I have gained."_

He smiled and walked up the staircase, anxious to rejoin his beloved Christine.

"_We have known each other less than a week, but I know more about her than I do about Raoul. I need to tell her about my life, although it seems rather boring when compared to hers."_

He smirked and began to hum softly.

"_And, now I shall go upstairs, take Christine into my arms and, if she is willing, I hope to spend the entire day holding my wife. After everything that happened, I wish to taste of her lips, but after everything that happened, how can I? Perhaps it would not be too much to ask to spend the day lying beside her. I need to hold her. I never want to let her go. Yet, it seems so strange to think of her as a woman once more. I almost feel perverted for having lustful thoughts about her. I wonder if she feels as strangely as I do. Only one way to find out."_

He quietly opened the door to the bedroom he shared with his wife. She sat, propped up with numerous pillows against the headboard of the bed. As she caught the movement of the door, she looked up and met Erik's eyes. He held his breath. A wide smile washed across her lips and flowed into her eyes. She held out her hand to him.

"Come, mon amour. I do believe there is plenty of room in this bed, especially now that it is just the two of us. I am tired and find that I cannot sleep unless you are here to hold me in your arms. Can you do that for me?"

He swiftly made his way across the room and placed his hand in hers.

"Do you even need to ask?"

They smiled at one another as they forgot the rest of the world for a time.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Maman! Oh! At last, you are home! I thought you would never come back. How is Christine? Is she all right? What happened to her? Is Erik all right? Maman! Please, you must tell me what is happening."

Antoinette unfastened her cloak and unslung it from around her shoulders. She hung it on its accustomed hook next to the front door. She frowned at her daughter.

"Really, Meg! Let me get both feet inside the door before you besiege me with questions. I need a nice hot cup of tea. Would you care to join me?"

Meg sighed. She knew her mother better than anyone else did and realized that she was not ready to speak about the events she witnessed that night. Her eyes drifted over her mother's bent form, taking in the weariness of her posture. When she turned towards Meg, the girl gasped as she took in the dark rings and heavy bags around her mother's eyes.

"Maman! Did you not sleep at all last night? You look completely exhausted! Please! I cannot wait a moment longer. What happened?"

Her mother turned and walked away from her to enter their small kitchen. She went to the water jug and poured water from it into the kettle, which she placed atop the small pot belly stove. Moving to the cupboard, she opened it and selected the items she needed to make herself a cup of tea. Antoinette finally allowed herself to sink onto one of the chairs, which sat around the small table. She smiled up at her daughter.

"Megan, do you remember the line from Hamlet that says, _"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." _**¹ **Well, I learned first-hand tonight the truth of that and I shall never forget it. You knew that Christine's life here at the opera house has not been a happy one. You know it better than most and, my darling Meg, I have been so proud of how you always tried to protect her and make her feel welcome …."

Meg's hands flew to her hips and she scolded her mother.

"Maman! Please! I did so little. I could have done so much more, but I did not because Christine made it too difficult. I could have tried harder to help her, but I did not. In all this time, do you realize that she hugged me only twice? And, both of those times were after she met Erik. He is the one deserving of praise, not me."

The older woman shook her head and held out her hands to her daughter. The girl hesitated a moment before walking to her mother and kneeling on the floor before her. Antoinette cradled her daughter's face in her hands and placed a soft, loving kiss on her forehead. She then drew the girl into a tight embrace with one arm and stroked the pale gold silk of her hair with the hand of the other.

"I know I do not tell you often enough, but I love you, Meg. I love you very much. I pray that you always remember that."

Startled at the quaver in her mother's voice, Meg drew back slightly and her breath caught in her throat for tears streamed freely down her mother's cheeks.

"Maman, are you certain everything is all right?"

She nodded and releasing her daughter, rose to tend to the kettle, which began to whistle shrilly.

"Yes. Everything is better than it has been in years. I only cry because I now know that Christine no longer needs me. Well, she never really needed me, but tonight Erik saved her. Tonight I tried once more to help her, but I could not. All I could do was stand and watch as Erik saved her."

Meg began cautiously.

"I do not know or understand what happened tonight, but Maman, is not Erik supposed to be the one that protects her now? After all, he is her husband. Is that not what spouses are supposed to do for one another?"

"Yes, you are right, Meg. That is what is supposed to happen, but all too frequently, it does not. Erik is unique. He is not afraid or embarrassed to show how much he loves Christine. I have seen many men make promises to women that they have no intention of keeping just so they can win a woman's heart and her favors for a night. Erik does not use empty words. When Erik speaks, he speaks from his heart."

"Well, then, Maman, Christine is safe and you need not worry for her any longer. She has Erik now."

A brittle, broken smile formed on the older woman's lips.

"Yes, indeed she does, but someday, God willing, you will learn that just because your child has a husband that loves and protects her, it does not preclude you from worrying about them. When you love and care for someone, especially your child, Meg, worry walks hand-in-hand with that love. It is simply the way of things."

"Perhaps, but surely knowing that she has someone that truly loves her must ease your mind somewhat. Trust in his love for Christine, Maman. Christine told me that as long as love is true, all would come out right in the end. Their love is true, Maman. And, you know it. Come, later we can speak more of this, but for now, you need to rest. I shall inform the managers that you do not feel well and need to rest today. I will oversee practice today. Go on now to bed and rest."

"Oh, ma chère fille, I think I shall take you up on your offer. I must be getting old, but I am very tired. However, I shall only miss the morning practice. Inform the corps I shall attend the afternoon session and they had best be at their finest."

The woman's eyes sparkled with mischief as she spoke, then she held out her arms to her daughter.

"Come give me a hug, ma chère and then I shall go to bed."

After receiving the requested embrace from Meg, Madame turned and walked to her room, leaving a thoughtful Meg and the unfinished tea steaming in the gray light of dawn.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Really, Raoul, I am so nervous at the thought of meeting your parents, I feel quite ill. I have no idea what they expect of me. What if they do not like me? What if I drop my teacup and spill tea all over your mother? What if I giggle at an inopportune moment? Oh, I think I may be sick!"

The young man at her side attempted to hide his smile by biting his upper lip. Meg saw the amusement glistening in his eyes and she peevishly smacked his arm.

"Oh, do not mock me, Raoul. A girl's first meeting with her young man's parents is very important. It sets the tone of our entire future relationship. It is …."

Raoul interrupted her tirade.

"And, you believe that your Maman's discovery of our indiscretion was any less devastating for me? I am still not quite certain how we got past that incredible blunder, but I thank God for it. Anyway, Meg, I would like to ask you something, if you can spare me a moment of your time away from your worrying over the luncheon at my parents' home."

Her mouth dropped open as the import of his words took form in her mind.

"_Surely he does not mean to ask me now? Does he?"_

As if to confirm her thoughts, Raoul dropped to one knee and took her hand into the two of his. He looked up into her eyes unblinkingly.

"Megan Marguerite Giry, would you do me the honor of agreeing to become my wife? Would you do me the honor of wearing my ring as a token and sign of our betrothal? Meg, will you marry me?"

She slowly closed her mouth with a click of her teeth and she grimaced slightly.

_"From the first moment I met him, this is everything I have always wanted. Why am I so frightened now?"_

Without realizing it, the words flew from her mouth of their own volition.

"Oh yes, Raoul! Of course, I will marry you!"

**

* * *

¹**_**"Hamlet"**_**, Scene V – William Shakespeare****

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Author's Note****: Yada, yada, yada … please read and review! --ny

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**


	46. Raoul's Song

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

**_Raoul's Song_ **

_**From "Lilith"**_

_**The birds have told their bliss.  
And all too soon, that ebbing music ends  
On purple reach of streams where Twilight bends  
The brow to Evening's kiss.**_

_**Turn thou as mute to mine!  
For on the white Beginnings of thy breast  
My brow and lips, idolatrous, would rest  
And know the hour divine.**_

_**Now end the barren years.  
The lucid evening star, a drop of dew  
Hidden till sunsets rose had burned anew,  
Shines also in thy tears.**_

_**Let not thy love delay,  
Not silence hold our destinies apart;  
For what thy beauty says unto my heart,  
My heart can never say.**_

_**George Sterling**_

**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Six – Raoul's Song**

"Megan Marguerite Giry, would you do me the honor of agreeing to become my wife? Would you do me the honor of wearing my ring as a token and sign of our betrothal? Meg, will you marry me?"

She slowly closed her mouth with a click of her teeth and she grimaced slightly.

"_From the first moment I met him, this is everything I have always wanted. Why am I so frightened now?"_

Without realizing it, the words flew from her mouth of their own volition.

"Oh yes, Raoul! Of course, I will marry you!"

His hand dove into the pocket of his coat and his fingers curled around the small box he had been carrying around for weeks. He withdrew the box, raised it before him and carefully opened it. Meg gasped as her eyes locked on the large, blue oval diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds. The white gold band glittered in the gas lights as he removed the ring from the box, which fell unnoticed from his hand. Trembling only slightly, he took up Meg's left hand and slid the ring on her third finger. Standing, he suddenly straightened, a passionate look building in his eyes, he took Meg in his arms and began thoroughly kissing her lips. As his arms wound around her body, he felt her stiffen, but as he ignited her passion, she softened and her body melded into his. The couple enjoyed the moment, losing themselves in the joy of their kisses.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"So?"

The younger man walked about his brother's office for a moment before dropping into one of the armchairs in front of the desk.

"So, what?"

Phillipe groaned.

"Fine! If you wish to keep me in suspense, go right ahead."

Raoul pursed his lips as if he were considering his brother's words carefully. His eyes softened and his lips relaxed into a wide grin.

"I have absolutely no idea what you mean, Phillipe. You really should be plain when you speak. You know, say what you mean dear brother."

The older man rolled his eyes.

"Very well! Did you ask her to marry you? Did you ask Mademoiselle Giry to become your wife? Or, have you become the cat that ate the canary with that grin you are wearing?"

Raoul lifted his leg, draping it over the arm of the chair and began to hum quietly. Phillipe gaped in shock at his brother's uncharacteristic behavior.

"What on earth are you doing? Have you taken leave of your senses? Someone could walk in here and I have no idea what they would think. Raoul, what has gotten into you?"

Raoul smirked in response to his brother's questions. His hanging leg began to bounce in time with the song he hummed. After a few moments, he tilted his head to the side as if in thought. He halted the movement of his leg and considered Phillipe.

"Do you know that I have seriously begun to reconsider my choice of careers, Phillipe? I wonder if I am too old to begin vocal training. What do you think, Phillipe? My voice is passable, is it not? I think I would cut a dashing figure as a leading man on the opera stage. Yes, that way I would have a reason to be close to my wife and I would not be a pest by hanging around the stage all day. That way I could see my wife whenever I wished. No, wait. No. If I were the leading tenor, I would have to kiss the leading soprano and that would never do …."

Phillipe cut his brother's rambling discourse short.

"Raoul! Enough! You are not making any sense at all. What in blazes is going on in your head? You must certainly wish to have father keel over dead to talk such nonsense."

The older man stared intently at the younger one.

"Wait!"

He jumped up from his chair and strode around his desk. Looking down into his little brother's sparkling eyes, he reached out and cuffed him on the back of the head.

"You scamp! You wish to become an opera singer so you may be near to your wife. Hmmm …. I take it the girl accepted your proposal. Congratulations, Raoul. Now, if we can just get father and mother to accept this union, well, all should be right as rain."

Raoul's grin burst into a radiant smile.

"No, Phillipe. If we can just find you a woman strong enough to handle you and make you settle down, _**then**_ all will be right as rain."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The sound of the excited screech echoed about the empty stage of the opera house, followed by the light footsteps of pointe shoes across the wooden floor. The lithe form of the blonde ballerina ran onto the stage and gracefully leapt into a grand jeté landing on the opposite foot from the one on which she began. The sound of a cane thumping interrupted the joyous dance of the girl.

"Brava, ma chère! However, you must concentrate just a bit more on your arm and hand positions. May I ask what has caused you to leap into dance this evening?"

"Well, then perhaps, a basic _port de bras_ exercise is in order and while I perform the positions, you might discover the cause of my happiness."

Slowly, as if hearing a graceful piece of music in her head, the girl moved into the _bras bas_ position then into the first arm position, to second arm position, to _bras bas_ and then to the fifth overhead position and back down to _bras bas_.

The older woman's eyes widen as she noticed the glint of metal on her daughter's hand, but said nothing until the girl completed the exercise.

"Well done and I see that congratulations are in order as well. So, when did the boy work up his nerve to ask you?"

"Maman! Do not be cruel. Raoul is such a dear. He just left. He asked me not ten minutes or so ago."

Meg's full lips told her mother that the proposal had most likely taken place quite some time ago, but she made no comment as she could see how ecstatic her daughter felt and did not wish to put a damper on her mood. A sudden thought struck the older woman.

"Come, Meg. I think this news calls for a celebration and we must hurry if we are to make it before they close. Here sit down and I shall help you remove your pointe shoes."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

The pair settled into the small booth in the rowdy café and held their steaming cups of the rich, thick hot chocolate. Antoinette was the first to speak.

"Meg, I wish you and your boy a long, healthy and happy life together."

She raised her cup, nodded her head to her daughter as she smiled, then sipped at the dark brew in her cup. Meg returned the gesture and after a moment of thoughtful contemplation spoke.

"Maman, you could come and live with Raoul and me. I really do not wish for you to live alone. First Christine and now me. I feel like we have abandoned you. Come live with us and share in our happiness."

Antoinette smiled and shook her head.

"No, ma petite. A household has room for only one mistress, not two. You must make your home with your husband as must Christine. That is the way of things. Do not worry about me. You and Christine leaving home means that I have done my job. For that is what all mothers … and fathers do. We bring a tiny infant into the world and raise it. All the time knowing, the reason for all of our love and care is to have that child leave us and begin their own family. From the moment I knew I was with child, I knew this day would come. I look at you, ma chère and see what a fine young woman you have become and I can be proud of the job I have done. You are ready to begin your family now with Raoul, but remember, ma petite, you shall always be my bébé. I love you, Megan."

A single tear fell from each of their eyes, which they quickly wiped away.

"I love you too, Maman."

Antoinette cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders.

"So, I hear we are to have luncheon with the Marquis and Marquise de Chagny next week. When did you plan to inform me of this?"

"Maman! How did you hear about this? I told no one."

The older woman's eyes glistened with amused mischief.

"Oh, I know everything that happens under the roof of this opera house or did you not know this?"

She smiled and arched her eyebrow at her daughter. Meg frowned, a worried light coming into her eyes. Seeing the change in her daughter's demeanor, Antoinette sighed.

"I jest, Megan. I received an invitation from the Marquis and Marquise in this morning's post. Please, Megan. You no longer need to fear the Opera Ghost. The Opera Ghost is no more."

The girl gave a loud sigh of relief and blew on her hot chocolate.

"Well then, I suppose the only thing we need worry about is the Marquis and Marquise then."

She sipped at her hot chocolate for a moment and then looked at her mother with a curious look.

"Perhaps, I was better off when I only had to worry about the Opera Ghost, Maman."

The older woman chuckled and shook her head.

"Silly girl."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Really Erik, I am fine. I wish you would stop fussing over me and tell me what is bothering you."

The man turned and looked into his wife's eyes.

"Oh? And, how do you know that something bothers me, ma chéri?"

Christine rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Please do not play innocent with me. Erik, you have barely touched me since I made my confession. Has the shock worn off and you now find yourself regretting that you have tied your life to me?"

The man swiftly took her hands into his.

"No, ma chéri. I shall never regret a moment of our lives together. Je t'aime, ma chéri."

She stared at him intently.

"Je t'aime, Erik. Well, if you love me then what is it? Why will you not make love with me?"

His eyes dropped to their joined hands as his cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

"Erik?"

He mumbled something she could not hear.

"Erik? What did you say?"

He cleared his throat and raised his eyes to hers.

"Well, it is just that yesterday you were an eight year old girl and today, well …. I just need time to accustom myself to the change. I feel as if I am robbing the cradle."

The man found himself completely taken by surprise when the woman dropped his hands, cupped his face with hers and brought his face to hers for a searing kiss.

"I think it is past time for us to retire to our bedchamber, mon amour." She whispered huskily.

Erik nodded shakily. The two rose from their places before the hearth. Christine gave out a giggle and dashed out the door. Stunned, Erik stood there for a moment until he heard Christine's voice call to him from out in the hall.

"Erik? The bed is awfully cold. I need you to come and help me warm it."

And, like Pavlov's dog, the man salivated and rushed to follow the sound of his wife's voice.

**

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Author's Note****: Hope everyone is enjoying their summer! Please read and review! --ny

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**


	47. Useless Titles

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**useless titles**_

_**i worry you  
i worry me  
will i be  
the best you see**_

_**mother  
father  
all around  
useless titles  
on the ground**_

_**you worry you  
you worry me  
will i run  
far from thee**_

_**sweetheart  
lover  
under me  
useless titles  
i hope to be**_

_**Nyasia A. Maire – 2007**_

**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Seven – Useless Titles**

"I think it is past time for us to retire to our bedchamber, mon amour." She whispered huskily.

Erik nodded shakily. The two rose from their places before the hearth. Christine gave out a giggle and dashed out the door. Stunned, Erik stood there for a moment until he heard Christine's voice call to him from out in the hall.

"Erik? The bed is awfully cold. I need you to come and help me warm it."

And, like Pavlov's dog, the man salivated and rushed to follow the sound of his wife's voice.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Hours later, Erik lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling, his wife's sleeping body draped and cuddled atop his chest. The faint scent of their earlier lovemaking still hung in the air around them.

_"I shall never know what I have done to deserve this, but merci, mon Seigneur, merci beaucoup."_

He ran a gentle hand through his wife's wild mass of curls, brushing a few errant strands from her face. Smiling, he placed a soft kiss upon her forehead, which caused her to stir slightly.

"Erik?" She mumbled.

"Hmmm?"

"Erik?"

Her voice lowered an octave as her hand descended down his chest. She paused as she encountered the light dusting of coarse curls that began just below his navel before following it to the obvious object of her desire. His manhood lay nestled in the thick patch of hair at his groin. He moaned as her hands closed around his partially aroused member and firmly gripped it. She began to stroke him steadily and he gasped as his hips thrust involuntarily forward in excitement. He arched his eyebrow, narrowed his eyes and turned to look into her eyes with a smirk.

"Christine! Again?"

She gave him no response, but a throaty chuckle as she released him. He groaned, thinking that she meant to tease him. Instead, she firmly gripped his arms and pulled him atop her. She ran a string of wet kisses up the column of his neck until her hungry mouth met his. Eagerly, she joined their lips and ran a questing tongue over his lower lip seeking entrance. He happily deepened their kiss and allowed his hands to join hers in their renewed explorations of one another's bodies.

He paused only for a moment.

"Christine?"

"Oui, mon amour."

"Je t'aime, ma chéri. Je t'aime."

She smiled and pulled him back to press her swollen lips against his.

"_I love it when she smiles while we kiss. It feels like a little bit of heaven."_

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Now, tell me again … why do we need to go to this luncheon today? I mean … after all, Raoul is a grown man. He is going to get married for music's sake! They are his parents after all."

Erik walked to stand behind Christine as she sat before her vanity. He watched in awe as she twisted her hair and deftly secured it into a loose chignon. Then she smiled at her reflection as she pulled a few odd strands to hang free. She gave Erik a mock frown before rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

"Erik! He is your best friend and he is one of my oldest friends as well. He asked us to be there today, to stand with him and provide him with support. In light of his parents' disapproval of his decision to marry Meg, he needs all the friendly faces there he can muster. It is the least you can do, seeing as he asked you to be his best man. Meg asked me to be her matron of honor and she said that we make a most handsome couple. I do believe she is correct."

She inspected their image in the mirror before turning to face Erik. She caught him shaking his head.

"What? Do you not think we are a striking pair?"

Erik noticed a slightly dangerous glint in her eye and decided not to challenge his wife's opinion.

"Oui, ma chéri. Indeed. I am the most fortunate man in Paris to have such a radiantly beautiful creature as you on my arm."

He answered quite truthfully.

"Flatterer!" She muttered.

"Perhaps, but it is the truth."

He met her gaze with his own, his mouth wearing a soft smile and his eyes shining sincerely.

The perilous look in her eyes softened and receded. Erik almost thankfully noticed that she allowed the conversation to return to its previous topic.

"Oh, Erik! Come now! Raoul needs you. Surely, you do not mean to abandon him to that beast that masquerades as his mother and the block of ice known as his father. You could not possibly be that heartless, mon amour."

With an over exaggerated look of surprised and insulted innocence, he responded.

"Moi? Heartless? Hardly …."

"Hommes!" She said, shaking her head.

"Que veux-tu dire?" **¹**

"You know perfectly well what I mean, but you are so sweet that I will let you get away with it … this time."

He sighed.

"Christine, it is just that I have been to more than a few of these luncheons and they can be quite uncomfortable. I find it difficult to feign enthusiasm when I can think of other ways I would rather spend the afternoon … ways that are much more enjoyable."

He leaned down and nuzzled her neck as he placed soft kisses behind her ear.

"Erik!"

He paused and raised his eyes to meet hers in the glass. After taking in her determination, he relented and looked away.

"Very well. I will attend, but I know that I shall not enjoy it."

"Oh, really, Erik. Just think of all of the things that you shall hear that you can use to tease Raoul. Besides, Phillipe shall attend as well, so that ought to detract some of their fury over Raoul's engagement. I hope …."

Shaking his head, he met his wife's beautiful amber eyes.

"You, ma chéri, are the eternal optimist if you believe that and that is one of the reasons why I love you so very much."

She smirked as she batted her eyelashes at him and then rose from her seat.

"I know, mon amour."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Oh, Maman, I am so nervous I do believe I am going to be sick."

Silently counting to five, Antoinette smiled and spoke consolingly.

"Just breathe ma petite. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Slowly … that is it … watch me … yes … again … and, again … one more. Excellent. How do you feel now?"

The girl nodded and gave a tremulous smile.

"A little better. Merci, Maman."

"Good."

Antoinette smiled encouragingly.

"Because, we are here."

Her daughter gave a small shriek and proceeded to begin hyperventilating all over again. Antoinette sighed.

"Megan Giry! You stop this nonsense this instant. Just remember that these people are no better than you or me and just be you. Do not try to put on airs. Be proud of whom you are and you have absolutely no reason to feel anxious at all. You are my daughter and the next prima ballerina of the Opera Populaire. Stand tall and be proud!"

Meg dipped her head and bit her lip to hide her grin.

"Yes, Maman."

Antoinette gave her daughter one last appraising inspection. She allowed her lips to form the vaguest hint of a smile. She nodded.

"You will do. Come. Let us go."

As if on cue, a servant rushed to the carriage door and opened it. A second servant hurried to offer them a hand down from the carriage and a third escorted them up the stairs to the manor's imposing front doors.

Seeing Meg pale at the ostentatious signs of wealth around her, Antoinette hissed under her breath.

"Megan Marguerite Giry! Remember, green is gold! **²**

With a slight nod of her head to acknowledge her mother's words, Meg cleared her throat and steadied her breathing. She relaxed her body and allowed her natural dancer's grace to flow through her. Her feet gracefully carried her to the front door, where another servant held it open for her. She inclined her head and without hesitation, stepped inside the de Chagny Manor.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"_I cannot believe that woman is Mademoiselle Giry's mother. Is that the harridan of whom Sorelli spoke? Was she at the wedding? I do not remember seeing her there, but I was more than slightly distracted with Erik's nervous questions. She is formidable, but definitely intriguing. Such grace, beauty and intelligence! I have never before encountered this combination in a woman before now. I do believe I must get to know her better."_

Phillipe quietly observed the statuesque woman sitting across the table from him. Her long, pale hands steepled before her, resting on the edge of the table. The woman radiated a poise and confidence that captivated the older de Chagny brother.

"_I can imagine that in her time as the prima ballerina, she was an extraordinary sight to behold."_

The man's fascination with Antoinette Giry had not gone unnoticed by several other persons in attendance. Erik, Christine and Meg, all noticed the man's unusual silence and had seen his furtive glances, only a distracted Raoul and his parents were unaware of the silent seduction taking hold of Phillipe. Antoinette had also noticed his eyes lingering on her, although she gave no outward sign as to her thoughts about his attention.

The meal passed and, later, if someone had asked Phillipe to relay the menu of that day, he would have found it impossible to remember, but he also would not have cared. The food was not what was foremost on his mind that day. Antoinette Giry was.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

As lunch concluded, all the guests retired to Phillipe's study where he informed them that they would dispense with the normal formalities and help themselves to whatever type of drink they wished. Some of the men helped themselves to a brandy. Erik decided to join his wife in a cup of espresso. Raoul and Meg chose to have tea. Madame shocked half of those assembled by accepting a brandy from Phillipe and then quietly walking to look out the window into the garden. Christine broke the awkward silence by voicing her decision to give an impromptu exhibition of magic, which surprised her friends and shocked the Marquis and Marques.

Looking at the curious faces around her, she inquired.

"Can someone bring me a deck of cards?"

She smiled sweetly as Phillipe went to a side table, opened a drawer and pulled out a deck, which he tossed to Christine whom deftly caught it.

"Merci, Phillipe."

She removed the deck from its package and began to shuffle the cards adroitly, causing Meg to gasp in delight at her spreads and fans of the cards. Christine stared at Meg for a moment, closed her eyes and shook her head.

"I have not done anything yet, Meg."

Meg giggled and blushed, but the sparkle in her eyes did not diminish.

"Oh, Christine! It has been such a long time since I have seen you perform. I simply adore watching you make magic. Do the pick a card …."

"Meg, there are hundreds of variations on the pick a card, any card trick, which one do you wish to see?" Christine inquired.

"The first trick you learned. That one. I still cannot figure out how you do it." Meg harrumphed.

Christine smiled.

"Very well. Since, this is your favorite trick you may choose the card, Meg. Please, Mademoiselle, pick a card, any card."

The young woman ceased shuffling the deck, fanned the cards and waited for the blonde to make her choice. As soon as the girl pulled a card from the deck, Christine spoke.

"You have made your choice, Mademoiselle! Please do not allow me to see your card, but please feel free to show it to everyone else in the room then place the card face down back into the deck."

Meg shielded the card from Christine, but made certain that everyone else in the room knew what card she held.

"I am ready, Christine."

"Oh, all right then, back into the deck it goes! Give the deck a couple of shuffles and now, I shall find your card."

The room went deathly quiet as Christine fanned the deck with both hands.

"Ah! Here it is! Is this your card, Meg? The four of clubs?"

The Marques gasped and the Marquis muttered. Phillipe and Raoul smirked and shook their heads as they had witnessed this trick many times. Meg squealed and Erik looked suitably impressed. Antoinette, however, looked surprised.

"_In all the years she has lived with us, I have never seen her perform a single trick. She really is very good. I did not see her palm the card, or any other sleight of hand. I wonder. What else can she do?"_

"Christine! Someday you must tell me how that is done."

"Well, Meg, you know what I always say … if I tell you, I will just have to kill you later."

Phillipe and Raoul echoed the second half of her sentence. The Marquis and Marques gasped and muttered their outrage at their son's mocking words. The men ignored their parents. Phillipe snorted and Raoul gave a short bark of laughter. When Erik looked to Phillipe with a raised brow, his friend replied.

"Christine has been saying that ever since she made up that trick she just showed you."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Erik cocked his head and asked.

"And, just how long ago was that?"

Raoul eagerly jumped into the conversation.

"I remember that summer clearly. She was seven years old." **³**

"Seven?"

"Oui. Seven years old and I have never seen her fail to find the correct card. It is amazing. Although, the trick of hers that is my favorite is the disappearing/reappearing scarf, but then again, I have always been fond of tricks with a bit of flash."

Christine shook her head at Phillipe.

"Monsieur, you simply enjoy watching me startle people."

She turned to the Marquis.

"Monsieur le Marquis, may I be so bold as to beg the loan of your cravat? I promise no harm shall come to it and I shall return it to you at the conclusion of my trick."

The older man attempted to reply civilly, but it was clear that he found the request inappropriate. Erik stepped forward and offered the use of his cravat. With a shrug, Christine accepted the offered length of cloth. She walked to the center of the room where she held the cravat stretched between her two hands. Theatrically, she presented it to the assembly as she flourished it much as a matador waves his cape at a bull.

"An ordinary cravat worn by an extraordinary man, but still a simple silk cravat. I shall take this and cause it to disappear before your very eyes. Of course, that is not the difficult part. The difficulty lies in causing that which seemed destroyed to reappear, but I promise to do that as well. Observe!"

She released the cravat from her right hand and held up the empty hand for all to see, then passed the cravat to the right hand. She then held up her empty left hand for all to see.

"As you can see, I hold nothing but the cravat. I shall now stuff it into my closed fist and after saying the proper incantation, when I open my hand, the cravat shall be gone!"

The young woman proceeded to make a fist of her left hand and dramatically stuffed the silk into her closed hand. She brought her closed fist to her mouth and whispered. She then stretched out her arm, holding it level before her waist. She stared intently at her fist and then threw up her hand. As her hand opened, a flash of fire burst from her fingertips. Everyone blinked at the sudden intense light, but it was clear that the cravat was gone.

"With a flash of light and a puff of smoke, it is no more. However …."

Christine walked to her still startled husband, made a fist again and offered it to him.

"With a kiss, it shall be restored."

She nodded encouragingly, so Erik leaned forward and placed a light kiss on her knuckles. Smiling broadly, she placed her fingers into her fist and slowly drew out the cravat from her fist. After shaking the wrinkles from the silk, Christine handed the cravat back to her husband as her audience applauded. **4**

"How on earth did you do that?" The Marquis sputtered.

With a grin, Christine, Raoul and Phillipe responded.

"I could tell you, but then I will just have to kill you later."

_**

* * *

¹**__ "Que veux-tu dire?" – What do you mean?_

_**² **__"Green is gold." – Le Femme Nikita – I interpret this saying as meaning that youth is wealth or power, but I may be incorrect. However, I use this quote in that context. --ny_

**³** Trystin created this magic trick when she was seven years old. I know the secret behind it and it works every time. I could tell you the secret, but then, I would just have to kill you later. Suffice it to say, it really does work.

**4** An item called a "thumb tip" is the secret behind this trick. Also, a bit of flash paper. Both items were available during the 1890's.

* * *

**Author's Note: This chapter just seemed to take on a life of its own and I decided to save the serious stuff for the next chapter. Although, the poor Marquis and Marques are more than slightly outnumbered. Please read and review! --ny

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**


	48. Not So Useless Titles

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**not so useless titles**_

_**i need you  
i need me  
to be the best  
we can be **_

_**woman  
wife  
you surround  
wondrous titles  
run aground **_

_**i fear you  
you fear me  
and  
all too soon  
we  
chase the sun  
but  
catch the moon **_

_**darling  
beloved  
i lose sight  
of all the words  
we speak each night **_

_**Nyasia A. Maire – 2007**_

**

* * *

****Chapter Forty-Eight – Not So Useless Titles**

"How on earth did you do that?" The Marquis sputtered.

With a grin, Christine, Raoul and Phillipe responded.

"I could tell you, but then I will just have to kill you later."

The three friends erupted into hearty laughter as the Marquis muttered under his breath while shaking his head in disgust at the undignified behavior of his offspring.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Christine then surprised the brothers by suddenly changing the topic.

"I wish that my magic could help you both by changing what people think."

Her eyes slid in the direction of their father and mother. She spoke softly.

"But, I have a feeling that time is the only magic weapon you can wield in this battle. Well, perhaps not. Perhaps, love is the only other weapon in your arsenal that you may employ. Time and love may conquer all. I suggest the two of you Romeos need to make the opening move this afternoon. I have two truisms for you that apply. Tempus fugit and carpe diem."

She smiled gently and placed a hand on each of her friend's shoulders. Then, without warning, she gave the two of them a firm push in the direction of their parents.

Raoul looked to his older brother and sighed.

"I suppose since I have already asked for my lady's hand, I am the one that should begin."

He cleared his throat and began to state his case to his parents.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Well, that went better than I thought it would. Although, I suppose being confronted with the united front of the two brothers as well as the implied threat of never seeing their grandchildren provided all the impetus required to push them into approving Raoul and Meg's nuptials."

Erik nuzzled his lips against his wife's neck.

"Indeed. And, I think that poor Sorelli shall need to find another patron. Did you see the look on Phillipe's face? The man is completely smitten. The war was lost without a single shot fired. Today bachelors the world over mourned for their lost leader."

Erik smirked.

"If anyone mourns, they mourn the fact that he is completely unaware of his infatuation. When Madame accepted the brandy from him, I thought he would faint! She is perfect for him. I just hope that this relationship will not upset Meg. After all, if Madame and Phillipe marry, she and Meg shall be sisters-in-law. A more than slightly strange way of thinking about ones own mother. Do you not think so, Erik?"

The man mumbled his response as he nibbled his wife's earlobe and she let out a small squeal.

"Oh, Erik! Are you certain we need to go to the opera house now? Can this not wait for another day? I would really like to go home and well, I would like you to show me a few more breathing exercises. I really liked the ones we worked on last night …."

"Woman! You are insatiable!"

He enveloped her in a tight embrace and muttered.

"And, I love it that you are! Ma chéri, please know that I feel the same unquenchable desire for you."

They sat within the carriage, their bodies tangling, expressing their ever increasing ardor. Their hands roving and searching, squeezing and caressing, until the man and women felt themselves reduced to breathless, mindless husks. Erik thought that his mind would perish from lack of blood soon if Christine did not cease her ministrations to his body. In turn, Christine felt an exalted sense of freedom. To be able to love Erik completely and without the shadow of Lilith in her mind was an ecstasy previously unknown to her. She was completely free.

The carriage lurched and jerked to a stop. Erik groaned and attempted to bring his body under control.

"Well, Madame Rossignol**¹**, it appears that we have arrived at the opera house."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"This feels so strange. I lived here twelve years. I know every hallway, every room, every hidden passage, but now that I am with you, now that I am here as your wife, I feel as if I am a complete stranger here. The opera house is the same, I suppose. Only I have changed."

She smiled shyly.

"I hope I have changed for the better, mon amour."

He returned her smile with a wicked one of his own.

"Oui, ma chéri. You become more wonderful with each passing day. Ah! Yes, here we are!"

He led the confused woman out onto the stage.

"And now, mon mari**²**, will you tell me why we are here? Or must I resort to torturing you with my tiny fingers? Hmmm?"

She wriggled her delightfully dexterous digits in the direction of his waist and leered at him. Suddenly, she straightened and whirled about as she heard someone's throat clear. The speed of her movement startled Erik, causing him to take a step back from her.

"_I suppose in a roundabout way I have Lilith to thank for Christine's unorthodox sense of humor, her boyish manners and her uncanny speed. I am most relieved that all of the peculiarities she exhibits are good ones for her to have. I am such a fortunate man."_

"Oh, Erik! Why did you not tell me someone else is here?"

He chuckled and spoke in a low voice.

"And miss you turning that absolutely luscious shade of crimson? Never!"

The sound of the throat clearing returned the couple's attention to the man at the head of the orchestra pit. Erik inclined his head to the man.

"Monsieur Reyer."

The man returned the courtesy.

"Monsieur Destler. Madame Destler. The managers asked me to inform you that they should be here shortly."

Christine turned an upraised eyebrow to her husband.

"The managers? What are you plotting, monsieur?"

She huffed as she placed her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Well, I have it on very reliable sources that the opera house is in serious need of a lead soprano. It has been depending on visiting divas for the last four years and their patron thought it time that they find someone to fill the position permanently. As the patron happens to be my best friend, as well as a supporter of the candidate, he convinced the managers to allow a private audition today. An audition for you, ma chéri."

He squirmed slightly, blushed furiously and then added.

"And for me, as well."

Erik could have sworn he could hear the leftover rosin from the ballerina's slippers settling on the stage, the silence was so overwhelming. He was not sure if she would slap him or kiss him. He hoped for the latter, but feared the former. She surprised him with a serious question.

"And, monsieur, just what song are we to sing for this audition?"

He turned and felt his chest swell with happiness as it gave way into a huge sigh of relief. His wife was smiling at him. She walked close to him and whispered into his ear.

"Merci, Erik. Merci. The Angel of Music is well pleased that both of his pupils shall sing. So, I am most serious. What are we to sing for this audition? I would prefer to perform a duet. We have practiced several … I would prefer … hmmm …. Why are you smiling like that?"

"I have already provided Monsieur Reyer with the duet, _"__O Nuit Divine"_ from Act Two, Scene Two of Romeo et Juliette by Charles Gounod. We have practiced that often. Will that be acceptable, mon amour?"

Inwardly, Erik froze. In his exuberance to prepare for their audition, he had pushed from his mind the debacle and true tragedy that Romeo et Juliette might hold in Christine's mind. He mentally began to berate himself for his thoughtlessness. He relaxed as he saw Christine's reaction and he offered up silent thanks to Père Anton's counseling of his wife. She blushed prettily and gazed up at him from under her long lashes.

"It is perfect, mon mari. Well, then, I suppose I have no further protestations to make. Shall we?"

He raised his arm and she wrapped her hand around it.

"Indeed, ma femme**³**, let us show them the glory of the music taught to us by the Angel of Music?"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Erik! Christine! You need to make another curtain call. The audience refuses to cease applauding!"

The happiness in Meg's voice was contagious and not to be denied.

"You need to get out there. Where is Erik?" The slender ballerina pouted.

Christine glanced about the wings and her eyes found the object of her heart's desire. He was standing next to a portly, dark man that wore a strange-looking black and white checkered cloth wrapped around his head. Christine nudged her friend and pointed.

"Look! Erik's speaking with the Persian. I wonder what they have to say to one another."

Meg shrugged and strode over to the two men, pulling Christine along with her.

"Erik! Do you hear that noise? It is for you and Christine."

She paused and when he did not react quickly enough, she shoved the couple towards the stage.

"Now, Romeo, take your Juliette and go out there and take your final curtain call! You have plenty of time for gossiping later."

The pair stumbled onto the stage, but rapidly regained their composure as Erik bowed and Christine dropped into a deep and graceful curtsey.

"Megan Marguerite Giry! Just you wait until I get my hands on you!"

Erik smirked as he heard his wife's comment, but marveled at her ability to cover her annoyance with an enchanting smile. It seemed that his wife still had the fierceness of the opera ghost within her as well.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Madame Destler? Are you Madame Destler?"

Surprised by the quiet inquiry, Christine turned to face the man with the dark complexion and unusual headdress. She tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow.

"Oui, Monsieur. I am …."

She allowed the unspoken question to hang in the air for a moment. The man smiled and Christine marveled at how it transformed his features.

"_Before he smiled, he seemed menacing, but with that smile on his face, he seems like he could be almost … fatherly. How curious!"_

"Oh! Madame, where are my manners! How rude of me! I do apologize! Allow me to introduce myself to you. My name is Nadir Khan."

He accepted Christine's extended hand and kissed the air above the back of her hand. Christine smiled shyly at him and responded.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Monsieur Khan. I have seen you around the opera house many times, but have never had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. It is very nice to meet you at last."

He patted her hand and smiled.

"Yes, Madame. I, too, have seen you, but I had no idea that the little girl I saw scurrying about the opera house had the voice of an angel. Congratulations on your debut. I do believe opera has never before witnessed such divine sounds emanating from mortal lips. Truly, you and your husband sing as if your throats were blessed by the heavens."

"Oh, merci, Monsieur Khan. You are too kind."

"Ah, my words fail to adequately express the true brilliance of your voices, so I speak only the sadly lacking words I can find in your language. I eagerly await your next appearance on the stage. Might I inquire when that shall take place?"

Christine scanned the room for Erik and catching his eye beckoned to him.

"Unfortunately, after the opera house closes for the season, I am taking an extended leave."

"May I ask the reason for this misfortune?"

Christine shook her head and lowered her eyes.

"No, Monsieur. You may not. I apologize. I do not mean to offend, but it is for personal reasons."

The man held up his hands in front of him.

"Oh, dear! No offense taken."

Erik stepped next to Christine and placed his arm around her waist. She smiled up at him gratefully.

"Do you think we might go home? I am feeling quite tired. It has been a long day."

He bowed slightly to Monsieur Khan.

"If you would excuse us, Monsieur. As my wife said, it has indeed been a long and tiring day for both of us."

"Of course. Madame. Monsieur. It has been a pleasure to make both of your acquaintance. I hope we may speak again sometime soon."

And, with a bow, Nadir Khan wandered away and was soon lost in the crowd.

Erik murmured in Christine's ear.

"Are you quite all right, ma chéri? You look a bit pale."

She smiled and unconsciously brushed her hand across her abdomen.

"I am wonderful, mon amour. Just tired. Really."

"Well then, we cannot allow the greatest prima donna to ever grace the stage of an opera to become overtired. Here, ma femme, allow me to escort you home."

"Merci, Monsieur." She smirked then grew serious. "Erik, je t'aime."

**

* * *

¹** Madame Rossignol – Madam Nightingale 

**²** mon mari – my husband

**³** ma femme – my wife

* * *

**Author's Note****: We are nearing the conclusion of the story and I find each chapter more and more difficult to complete. Sorry that I'm slowing down, but knowing that the end is near is tearing me apart. I promised Trystin that the next story I write is the bedtime story I made up for her and have been telling her ever since her conception. Yes, I know I looked a tad strange telling a fairy tale to my tummy, but anything for my T! The name of the story is "The Plastic Rainbow" and I am wracking my brain to see if I can write a POTO version at the same time I write her version. We'll see.**

**Anyway, two chapters left . . . now is the time for all you lurkers (whom I appreciate too!) to chip in and write a review! --ny

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**


	49. To Eֽ

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

* * *

_**To E.**_

_**I have remembered beauty in the night,  
Against black silences I waked to see  
A shower of sunlight over Italy  
And green Ravello dreaming on her height;  
I have remembered music in the dark,  
The clean swift brightness of a fugue of Bach's,  
And running water singing on the rocks  
When once in English woods I heard a lark. **_

_**But all remembered beauty is no more  
Than a vague prelude to the thought of you –  
You are the rarest soul I ever knew,  
Lover of beauty, knightliest and best,  
My thoughts seek you as waves that seek the shore,  
And when I think of you, I am at rest.**_

_**Sara Teasdale**_

**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Eight – To E.**

Erik murmured in Christine's ear.

"Are you quite all right, ma chéri? You look a bit pale."

She smiled and unconsciously brushed her hand across her abdomen.

"I am wonderful, mon amour. Just tired. Really."

"Well then, we cannot allow the greatest prima donna to ever grace the stage of an opera house to become overtired. Here, ma femme, allow me to escort you home."

"Merci, Monsieur." She smirked then grew serious. "Je t'aime, Erik. Je t'aime."

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Seriously, Christine, what is the matter? You look pale and tired. I know it is not the opera. For the last fifteen months of preparations and rehearsals, you have been a bundle of inexhaustible energy. Are you ill, ma chéri? Should I call a physician?"

Christine smiled at the concern she saw on her husband's well-loved features. She turned around to face him from her seat in front of her dressing table and smiled gently. She held out her hands to Erik and he took them into his as he knelt before her.

"What is it?"

She drew his hands to her and placed them over her abdomen. Her eyes moved from staring into his and down to the place their hands covered then back up to his eyes. She shrugged ever so slightly and gave a mischievous smile. She watched as his eyes moved from their joined hands and back to hers. After the fifth time, he froze as his eyes met hers. His mouth moved silently and Christine began to frown.

"Erik?"

Her frown deepened as he continued to mumble soundlessly.

"Erik Destler!"

He jumped and then blinked slowly, his eyes returned to look at the spot covered by their hands.

"Erik, what were you saying just now? I need to know."

He raised wonder-filled eyes to hers and she relaxed.

"You are with child? We made a child. You and I made a child. You shall be a mother and I, a father. This is more than I could ever have dreamt possible! First, I marry the most beautiful woman in all the world. And, now, we will have a family. It is a miracle. Please! Tell me I am not dreaming!"

She smiled as her eyes began to fill with happy tears.

"You are not dreaming, mon mari. Of this, I am quite certain. You are not dreaming. God willing, we shall become parents in six month's time."

He leaned into her and covered her abdomen with wild kisses as she placed happy kisses on the top of his head. And, they both shed tears of joy.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Meg, I thought that the first dress they showed you was the best one. Do we really need to continue looking? I grow rather tired of looking at the svelte ladies modeling these dresses for you when I appear as large as one of those balloons Raoul likes to ride. I only wish I could float like a balloon instead of waddling along. No one ever told me that being pregnant in the summer was so uncomfortable. Meg, when you marry, never join with Raoul during winter. I cannot think of a more uncomfortable time to be with child than the summer!"

"Christine! Please! Keep your voice lowered. You are a scandal for me to associate with as it is. You should be in confinement and your refusal to hide away in your home is causing an uproar among the upper classes. You are the talk of the town. All of the ladies gossip how you and Erik went to the opera just last week and how you and I go out regularly for tea. I just know that you accompanying me here today is going to make tongues wag for at least a month. And, I absolutely love it."

The petite blonde giggled as she leaned in conspiratorially and whispered.

"Really, Christine! I heard the Comtessa d'Schiavon fainted when she heard you say you are pregnant. You did not really say that, did you?"

The girl giggled again and then she bit her lip as she looked about the salon to make certain no one overheard their conversation. Christine cast an indignant look at Meg.

"Of course I did. After all, that is what I am. I am pregnant. Very pregnant, I might add."

Meg looked at her friend and shook her head.

"Christine, you were so tiny before that until just recently, you only looked as if you had gained some weight. You never looked with child. You still do not."

The young mother-to-be rolled her eyes.

"Wonderful! I do not look pregnant. I just look fat. Remind me to give you the same support when you are expecting your first child, Meg. I am certain that you will find it as reassuring as I do."

"Oh, Christine! I am so sorry. I simply cannot seem to say anything right lately!" Meg moaned.

Christine shook her head and sighed.

"It is not your fault. I am so uncomfortable. It is so hot and the bébé kicks so much that I believe I shall give birth to an octopus!"

Meg gave a small shriek of outraged laughter.

"Really, Christine. The way you speak, I can imagine your words coming from the mouth of a man. You speak so plainly. What does Erik have to say about all of this?"

The dark-haired woman sighed again and then gave a pouting frown.

"He does not say much. Lately, he has taken to closeting himself away in the music room. He is composing. Seriously, though, Meg, Elaine and I have to threaten him with dire circumstances to make him come out and eat. Between the time he spends working at the firm and the time he spends composing, I barely see him and it just makes me even more aggravated. I just want this bébé born. I want to have done with it. I want to return to the opera house and sing. I guess I just miss Erik's attention."

The petite blonde placed a consoling hand on her friend's shoulder.

"You should tell Erik exactly what you just told me. He will listen. After all, he adores you, Christine. I am certain he does not realize how lonely you feel. Tell him."

"You are right, Meg. I shall tell him. I cannot expect him to read my mind."

"You say he is composing? What is he writing?"

"Oui. He is writing an opera entitled, "Don Juan Triumphant." From the sounds emanating from the music room, it seems a rather discordant and passionate piece of music. He told me that he wants to have it finished by the time I am ready to return to the stage."

Suddenly, Christine's eyes widened and she inhaled deeply.

"Christine! What is it?"

"Oh, no! I do believe the bébé is on the way. We need to get home!"

The blonde ballerina jumped up from her seat and began to rush about the salon.

"What do I do? Oh, my! What do I do?"

"_**Meg!"**_

Christine's calm voice broke through the panic, which had overtaken her friend.

"Call two hansoms, Meg. Send one for the midwife. The other is for us. We need to return home as quickly as possible." She paused and closed her eyes as she breathed slowly and deliberately. "Oh! And, tell the store manager that I do apologize for the chair's upholstery. They are to send me a bill for the damage. Oh, merde!" Another pause. "Meg … I think you had better hurry!"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

One hour and twenty-two minutes later, the sound of an infant's cry echoed throughout the Destler domicile. Erik rushed out of the music room and caught Raoul and Phillipe's eyes.

"How is it possible?"

Raoul shrugged his shoulders and Phillipe muttered.

"How am I supposed to know?"

Erik began to take the stairs two at a time, when a second wail resounded in an odd harmony with the first cry. The man slowed only slightly before resuming his mad dash for the master suite.

Raoul looked at his older brother.

"Twins?"

This time, Phillipe shrugged.

"It would seem to be the case. I thought twins ran in families …."

Raoul opened his mouth to reply when a third cry interrupted him.

"Mon Dieu! And, just how am I supposed to respond to that?" Raoul quipped.

"I do not know about you, but I do believe I could use another whiskey right about now."

Raoul chuckled as he nodded his agreement and added.

"And, pray that we do not have a quartet forming upstairs."

Phillipe ran a hand through his hair as he shook his head in disbelief.

"I always knew Erik never did anything by half measures, but triplets? Mon Dieu!"

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Élise, Élodie and Émilie Destler were born divas. The girls were identical right down to the small birthmark each had on their left hips in the shape of a V. The proud parents dubbed the marks, "their angel wings." The girls inherited their father's green eyes, their grandfather's black hair and their mother's curls. All three girls had voices that their proud Papa said would make the angels weep.

And, at long last, with the birth of his daughters, Erik Destler's nightmares ceased. He no longer dreamed of the beaten and unloved boy, but of his hopes for the future with his wife and children.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Now, forty years after the night of his fateful trip to the opera house with Raoul and Phillipe, Erik Destler was the retired proprietor of Destler Design and current honorary manager of the Opera Populaire. Erik and Christine Destler had graced the stage for many years as the most charismatic couple ever known to perform in the world of opera. Erik's first opera, "Don Juan Triumphant," opened to praise for its originality and haunting blend of music and vocal performances. The public and press received the dozen or so operas that followed with equal enthusiasm and rave reviews.

Erik Destler had a prestigious reputation and wealth. He had all a man could ever want. He had everything he had ever dreamed of having, including the two little things he never thought he would.

Love and music.

And every morning he awoke from his dreams to find that the truth of his life far surpassed the mundaneness of his dreams as he gazed upon the face of his beloved wife.

He lived in a home filled with love and the sounds of music.

He found it was driving him mad … with joy.

And, he decided that this glorious madness was one that he would enjoy until his dying day.

**

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Author's Note: Please do not scream about Meg and Raoul or Madame and Phillipe, let your imaginations wander and fill in the blanks. This is, after all, a fiction about Erik and Christine. Final chapter goes up on Sunday. I began this story on March 19, 2007 and posting the final chapter exactly five months to the day later seems somehow very appropriate and very satisfying for someone with OCD.**

**Please read, review and ENJOY! --ny**

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	50. Epilogue – While the West is Paling

**The Perfect Solution**

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

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DISCLAIMER:** I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in _The Phantom of the Opera_ or _Phantom_, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

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_**While the West is Paling**_

_**While the west is paling,  
Starshine is begun.  
While the dusk is failing  
Glimmers up the sun.**_

_**So, till darkness cover  
Life's retreating gleam,  
Lover follows lover,  
Dream succeeds to dream.**_

_**Stoop to my endeavor,  
O my love, and be  
Only and for ever  
Sun and stars to me.**_

_**William Ernest Henley**_

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Chapter Fifty – Epilogue – While the West is Paling**

Erik Destler had a prestigious reputation and wealth. He had all a man could ever want. He had everything he had ever dreamed of having, including the two little things he never thought he would.

Love and music.

And every morning he awoke from his dreams to find that the truth of his life far surpassed the mundaneness of his dreams as he gazed upon the face of his beloved wife, Christine.

He lived in a home filled with love and the sounds of music.

He found it was driving him mad … with joy.

And, he decided that this madness was one he would enjoy until his dying day.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

_**Paris – Late Autumn, 1934**_

The man and woman sat on the park bench, their postures straight and proud. Although they were quite obviously elderly, they held hands much like newlyweds. They gazed at the statues on their fountain, thinking back to the day a very nervous Erik proposed and a possessed Christine accepted.

"I am very worried, mon amour. There are rumors of another war brewing in Germany. A war to end all wars! Ha! As long as there are men whose only wish is to dominate others, there will be wars."

The old woman sadly shook her head.

"I can only be thankful that you never had to participate in those bits of foolishness. I only wish …."

The man placed his hand over hers and squeezed gently.

"I know, ma chéri, I know, but Henri thought he was doing the right thing when he enlisted. We have been over this many times. God simply wished to call him home. As much as we needed him with us, God needed him more."

"Somehow it still seems so unfair. I bore him within my womb for nine months, went through the pain of his birth, we raised him through the scraped knees and bloody noses, only for him to die just as he becomes a man. It is wrong. He should be here with us, he should have a wife and we should have grandchildren, but since God had to call him home when he was 19, we will never have those things with him. Nor, will we ever have him again. I am sorry, Erik."

The man turned and looked at her confused.

"What? Why are you sorry?"

A tear slid down her cheek.

"I am sorry I did not give you another son. It always seemed like there would be plenty of time and what with the girls always underfoot and Henri toddling along after them, I never felt a lack, but I suppose the time for regrets ran out on that quite some time ago."

Erik turned to face his beloved and took both of her hands in his.

"Ma chéri, hush! I, too, never felt a lack. I have no regrets. It was simply Henri's time. I treasure the time we had with him, I treasure the time I have had with all of you. I feel blessed for having lived this life. We never spoke of it, but when we first married, you knew I had horrible nightmares. Do you remember?"

"Oui. I remember, but they stopped after the girls' birth. Why do you bring this up now?"

The man released one of the hands he held captive, patted his wife's knee and smiled sweetly.

"Oh, I suppose I am just feeling my age. Is it not what old men do? Reminisce about the past and think of the way things might have been. I spent the first 30 years of my life believing that I would always be alone and I dreamt of a life that could have been, but thankfully, was not. I dreamt that I ran away from home before my mother and I reconciled that gypsies trapped me and held me in a cage. I dreamt that they put me on display and called me, "The Devil's Child." I remember the dreams quite plainly. My keeper beat me and treated as if I were less than an animal."

Christine gasped and placed her hand over her heart.

"That sounds like a truly dreadful dream."

The man smiled grimly.

"It was horrible, but the strange thing is that it was not the worst part of the dream."

"How could it get any worse?"

"Well, oh! Ma chéri! You must not take this the wrong way. After all, these dreams occurred forty and more years ago, but the truly horrific part of the dreams had you in them. And, the thing is that I knew of you through Raoul, but had no idea what you looked like. I know now that it was you in those dreams. I dreamt of you before we ever met. You saved me from the gypsies. One moment, I was a child and you led me away from them. The next, I was a grown man who loved you so much I felt I had lost my mind. Only, in my dreams, I wore a mask over the disfigured side of my face. You could not love me, you never chose me. You always left me. I was alone and broken-hearted while you left me, wrapped in the arms of another man."

"Erik! I loved you from the moment I saw you. Why would you have such dreams?"

"I know not, mon amour. I only know that if I had not met you in truth, those dreams would have driven me insane. The night I met you was the night you saved my life. If not for you, I would have given in and allowed the madness to take me. You saved me, ma chéri."

The strange earthen-tone eyes of the woman flashed amber sparks at her husband's words and she shook her head as a gentle smile curled her lips.

"Oh, mon mari, you saved me as well. If not for you, I would be an empty shell of a woman. A puppet whose strings Lilith pulled. We saved one another, mon amour. It is very simple really, destiny meant for us to be together."

The elderly couple leaned forward and touched their foreheads together savoring the nearness of their bodies and the closeness they shared in their hearts.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"Erik! Christine!"

A long unheard, but never forgotten voice called. The couple turned their heads slowly and gasped as one.

"Angel!" The man rasped.

"Papa!" The woman cried hoarsely.

The young man smiled and nodded his head in greeting at the couple seated before him.

"It is time to go home now."

He held out his hands to the pair.

"Come, I have the most heavenly music for you to sing. Let us go."

They stood and each of them grasped an outstretched hand. The three began to walk away from the bench, but Erik cast a glance over his shoulder and froze in shock.

"Christine! Look!"

The woman turned and took in the sight of an elderly couple slumped together on the bench leaning forehead to forehead with eyes closed.

"Mon Dieu! Are we …."

Christine and Erik looked at one another and smiled.

"Oh, ma chéri! You have never looked more beautiful!" The man stammered in awe.

The woman blushed prettily and replied in a voice equally filled with wonder and admiration.

"Oh, Erik! You truly are the most handsome man I have ever met. Je t'aime."

He smiled softly and ran a finger along her cheek.

"Je t'aime, Christine. Je t'aime pour toujours."**¹**

They released their Angel of Music's hands and smiled in response to his frown.

With a small bow, Erik offered Christine his arm.

"Ma femme, may I have the honor of escorting you?"

Christine dropped a small, dainty and flirtatious curtsey then threaded her arm through Erik's offered one.

"Oh, mon amour, I would not have it any other way."

Erik inclined his head to the young man who waited patiently for them.

"Shall we, monsieur?"

Christine rested her head on Erik's shoulder. The two began to stroll through the park, holding onto one another's arms tightly. Christine looked up into Erik's eyes and smiled. The man returned his wife's look as his eyes sparkled in sheer delight. The two lovers followed the Angel of Music down the path and on into eternity.

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¹** _Je t'aime pour toujours._ – I love you forever.

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**Author's Note****: I sit writing this final chapter and find myself feeling rather numb. The ending of this story came to me while I wrote Chapter 42. I hoped that another ending would find its way into my fingers, but my muse would not allow it. I shall truly miss the love these two shared as well as Christine's blindness towards Erik's deformity, not to mention the fact that his mother's decision to burn his masks and Christine's love allowed Erik to live a life in the light of love.**

**I would like to thank all of my reviewers as well as all of the people that placed this story on their "Story Alert" list or their "Favorite Story" list. Here is a list of all of you alphabetically!**

Alarda  
atraktywna  
BadBugz  
Bella Diva  
BaileyBos  
Cadoiscool  
caitlin1121  
Carillon  
Clara A. Nairn  
Dancer of the Opera  
DonJuanTriumphs  
DownOnceMore  
DuoHarryVegeta  
emstress  
erebusnova  
EscaPhan225  
Ethalas Tuath'an  
Eve  
familyguyfreak  
fictionreader  
gerardsfan  
Geriks  
GerrysJackie  
HarlotBabe  
IansDestiny  
Ineluctability  
JackieLu  
janesrose  
Jazzytea  
Jenni  
Juju  
JustBFree  
katiebabs  
Kelly Elizabeth  
Kilt Girl  
KyrieofAccender  
laal ratty  
Lady Rosesong  
Lady Winifred  
LovetheScottishAngel  
mika  
Mominator  
mon-angeofmusik  
mrsphan  
Phantom Night Rose  
Phantom Of The Feudal Era  
phantomangelex  
PhantomFan13  
PhantomPhoenix  
phantomphorever  
phantoxicant  
poetzproblem  
Quiet2885  
R. J. Daae  
Ravenseye131  
RibbonRose  
rustywindowpane  
saucydeviant  
scorpionorchid  
Skoteinos Metamfiezomai  
SoaringSpirit27  
Spanned Soul  
TakeYourAZT  
terbear  
TheDragonEye  
The-Lonely-Child  
TheWickedWitchofOz  
Timesflies  
TruPhan  
Twinkle22  
Vampire Fortune  
vexivicious  
VoiceOfAngles  
washizu  
wolfy73  
xan3

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Okay…**

**I just had to say it in this story somewhere. It's been driving me crazy not being able to write it. ☺ Here is a shameless plug, which I am not certain anyone will see because it's at the bottom of the list of reader names. But, here goes anyway…the first chapter of "The Plastic Rainbow" should be posted tomorrow (Monday, August 20.) Just thought anyone that might be interested would like to know. As with most of my writing, it is completely different from "Christine dans Deux" and "The Perfect Solution." I found a way to tie it into the POTO universe, so it won't be a complete "Alternate Universe" – just a skewed one (I know The-Lonely-Child, I just LOVE skewed universes!)**

**Hope to see your reviews for "The Plastic Rainbow." It has been an honor and a pleasure writing "The Perfect Solution" for all of you!**

**Fondest wishes,  
--ny**

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